The Pianist
by sodacreamorange
Summary: A strange man walks into Christine's life, inviting her out of her old routine and into a world of music. Modern AU. E/C
1. Audience

_Author's Note_ _: Thanks to all who have read/reviewed my recent writing. I feel like I jumped in too quickly with my last full piece of phanfic (Second Chances), so I tried taking my time a little more on this one, writing chapter by chapter, polishing it, and focusing on the details. Please don't forget to review, if you'd like. Always looking to improve as a writer!_

* * *

Every weeknight was routine for Christine Daaé. Serve customers from 3 until 7, bus tables until 9, clean, pack, and leave at 11. It was simple and she'd grown quite accustomed to it.

After everyone had left the smaller dining room, she began packing up for the night. She twisted her hair and carelessly tied it up into a bun to keep it from her face as she bent over tables and cleaned their surfaces with a worn rag that made her fingers prune after she dipped it into her bucket of water.

It was Friday night which meant the weekend was just starting and Christine would get to enjoy her brief two-day break (except for ballet rehearsal on Saturday, but she could hardly consider that anything apart from her break). She'd been working at _Isabella's_ for the past couple of months in hopes of saving enough money to go to college for dance. Although the pay was good and tips were plentiful so long as she remembered her overly-friendly smile and signature gleeful voice, she also lived off of what her father had given her in his will along with royalties from his music. As small as that income was, it was plenty for her to sustain herself along with the help of her lifelong friend and roommate Meg.

Christine grew up traveling with her father as he played violin with orchestras all around the world. Earlier this year they had made the decision to settle down as his health began depleting in old age. He passed away early that year in April and she still wasn't entirely over it despite it having been eight months since. She tried reminding herself of that fact as if eight months was enough for her to heal. He was her father, the love of her life, the only family she had left. Now he was gone and she was alone. Or at least it felt that way.

Christine kept herself busy with work and dance, trying to keep her mind off her troubles and on what she believed was most important now: survival and getting into school.

As she finished her first table and moved to another, she was reminded of an old tune her father used to play. She wasn't quite sure of its title, nor its composer, but she remembered how her father seemed to favor it so much. The tune came to her in its entirety and she started humming to herself as she stacked the chairs on the table and moved to the next. Subconsciously, she began singing to herself. Each note came to her naturally and soared through the air with a profound precision. The tune was so familiar, it felt as if it flowed directly from her soul and onto the floor. She felt as if she was back with her father in a small and cramped hotel room, enjoying the music that emerged from the sound post of his violin and spilled out, filling every corner of the room. She would often dance as he played, allowing the music to possess her and control her every movement, carrying her across the floor that she always fantasized was a stage when she was younger.

She submitted herself once again, allowing the music to conquer her and control her body, making her routine of work more dance-like as her body began adapting to the tune. She enjoyed working this way. It made her feel as if she were floating across the room and every move she made—the swipe of the rag, the straightening of a salt shaker—was as simple as it was meant to be. And it felt like she was safe again. Safe with her father somewhere in a distant land under the roof of some drab hotel where music peeled back the cheap wallpaper and transformed the room into a grand stage brightened with lights that blinded their view of the crowd. Home.

Suddenly, however, Christine's stage was shattered. She caught a glimpse of something, maybe someone, in the reflection of the window. It was nighttime, so she couldn't see outside, but she could see the rest of the small dining room as well as the doorway where it joined with the main dining room. She stopped in the middle of a hip swing and stared at the wall briefly, embarrassed that she'd been caught in the act of singing and dancing while at work. She turned towards the windows to look at the reflection of whoever was watching her; but as she soon as she turned her head the tall, dark figure and the unnatural white of its face turned as well, heading back into the main dining room.

Christine reluctantly jumped back into her work for the rest of the night, making the mental note not to sing or dance while she was on duty. How could she let herself go so easily? She needed to focus. Focus on work. Focus on ballet. Do not slip back into the past. What only mattered now was the present and the future.


	2. Request

Next Friday night Christine was back in her usual post of bussing tables and packing up. She had stopped worrying so much about people spying on her and started humming to herself again. However, she kept her singing and dancing to a minimum. She figured it was inappropriate anyways.

"Christine." The familiar voice of her co-worker Frederic appeared from behind. She turned, putting her humming on pause.

"Yes?" she replied uneasily, nervous since she had never been interrupted during her business of cleaning up the smaller dining room in the time she'd been working there.

"A man requested your service. I tried to tell him you were busy with other business and offered another waitress, but he insisted that you waited on him."

Christine sighed and removed her cleaning apron. Only a few people had requested her service before, but they usually dined much earlier when she was actually on waitress duty. "Which table?" She asked.

"Table five."

Christine felt herself agitated as her usual routine was now being disrupted; but on her way to table 5, she collected herself and put on her best smile. That was until she saw who her customer was.

Surely it couldn't have been the same figure she'd caught watching in on her performance last week, right? But this man seemed to have all the same features. Despite being seated, he was obviously tall. His suit was black and seemed to be impeccably tailored to him; his jacket looked to lay perfectly across his lithe figure, sleeves ending right at the bone of his wrist. As she approached, he looked up from his menu, locking eyes with her. His hair was dark brown, almost ebony, and slicked back with excessive care. His eyes were miss-matched—one brown, one blue— and much of his face was obstructed from her viewing by a half-mask, taking up the right side of his face from forehead to jawline and extending over his nose. She would've felt obliged to question why he wore such a thing if she didn't notice the bloated upper-edge of his lip that extended underneath his mask. Christine reasoned that his face was disfigured, but she wouldn't question how it had happened. No, she could not be rude, especially not to a customer.

Christine remembered her smile and pulled a coaster from her waitress apron, sliding it on the table in front of him. She began her practiced introduction. "Hi, my name is Christine and I'll be your server tonight. Do you know what you'd like to drink?"

The man smiled. "Ah, yes," he spoke. His voice was deep, enchanting. It was almost like warm syrup spilling into her ears. It relaxed her a bit, despite it belonging to her intruder. "May I get a water?"

Christine nodded. "I'll be back." She left and returned with a glass of water and ice, placing it on his coaster, and setting a straw to the side. "Would you like to start off with an appetizer?" she asked as she was taught.

"Mmm," the man's voice rumbled in thought as he eyed the appetizer page of his menu."No thanks."

"Alright, well do you know what you'd like to eat or do you need another minute?"

He pursed his lips, looking down at his menu and then back up to her. "What do you recommend?"

Christine reached her hand out to flip the pages of his menu. He pulled back his thumbs in response, allowing her to turn the page. "If you're in the mood for our pasta, I'd recommend the rigatoni or the lasagna." She pointed to their descriptions on the page. "Or," she continued, turning the page once more, "if you're feeling more on the side of soup, since it is cold outside, I'd recommend our lentil soup or tomato bisque. But if you want to go lighter, our salmon is delicious and fresh."

He looked back at her from the menu. "May I get the rigatoni?"

She nodded. "I'll get that right out for you, sir." She reached out to take his menu, and he closed it, handing it over. "Thank you."

Christine returned once between the time she took his order and the time his food was ready to fill his glass. She placed the steaming plate of rigatoni on his table, notifying him of its heat and left to converse with her co-workers in the kitchen.

"How is he?" Kasey, another waitress, asked.

"He's good, I guess," Christine replied.

"He was quite insistent on having you. He didn't recall your name, though. He just asked for 'the girl with the curly chestnut hair.' Do you know him?"Frederic asked.

"No," Christine replied, shaking her head. She would've mentioned she was sure he stopped in to spy on her last week, but she figured it all too personal of a story. Besides, it would probably sound odd for them to hear their co-worker was putting on a show when she was supposed to be focused on working.

"Weird," Kasey said. "Why do you suspect he wears the mask?"

"I guess he's just deformed," Christine reasoned.

"He's a excellent tipper," Naomi, another co-worker, said as she walked in to grab food for a family of customers. "I took care of him last time he was here. I guess he's got a lot of money."

Frederic chuckled. "You've got to have a good bit of money to eat here anyways."

"Well," Naomi rolled her eyes, "you know what I mean. You have to pay for your food, but you don't have to tip well."

They all sighed. "Don't we know it," Kasey said, laughing wearily.

Christine returned to fill his glass one final time before asking him if he wanted dessert.

"No," he replied, chuckling and shaking his hand before him in objection. "I'm satisfied, thank you."

As soon as she returned with his check, before she could set it down on the table, he handed her his card. She rang him up and returned with his card and receipt.

"Thank you," she said, retaining her friendly waitress smile. She left him so he could tip and returned to the table to pick it up after he had left. He had placed a folded piece of paper by the receipt. She unfolded it and read:

 _Parisian Choir auditions November 23. Singers must provide their own music. Local Theatre, 5 P.M._

Christine folded the flyer back up and slipped it into her pocket. She picked up the receipt and found he'd tipped 50%. It wasn't a lot of money considering he ate alone, but it was generous nonetheless.

Christine left her workplace without mentioning the tip or flyer to her co-workers and returned to her shared apartment.

"Hey," her friend Meg greeted her from the couch as she entered. "How was work?"

Christine sighed, exhausted from the days events. "Do you remember me telling you about that person who was creeping in on me last week?"

"Yeah," Meg said, recalling their conversation. "Why?"

"He asked Frederic for me to serve him tonight when I was cleaning tables and left a flyer for me." Christine pulled the flyer out and unfolded it, holding it up so that Meg could read what was printed.

Meg smiled, laughing. "He must've thought you were a good singer."

Christine rolled her eyes. Was she really missing the point? "It's just bizarre," Christine remarked. "I kind of feel like my privacy had been violated, but he seems... nice."

"Forgive him, Christine. You know that people singing can attract an audience."

Christine sighed wearily and sat next to Meg on the couch, dropping the flyer on the coffee table in front of them.

"So," Meg spoke, a slight hint of a tease in her voice, "are you going to audition?"

"I want to be a dancer, not a singer."

"I've heard about that choir performing before. They bring in quite the audience. It might provide a decent pay on the side."

Christine pursed her lips in thought. "I guess I'll go to auditions. If I don't get in, I don't get in."

Meg smiled, nodding approvingly of her friend's decision. "Give things a try, Christine. You're meant for the arts, not for serving people food all day."


	3. Evasion

Auditions weren't but for another three weeks, so Christine had some time to prepare herself. She pulled out some of her father's old music, focusing on the songs they had performed together before. Her father realized she preferred dancing over picking up an instrument when she turned five and he had tried numerous times to keep a violin in her hand. She would always end up running off somewhere, carelessly leaving it sitting out in the open. He thought it might be good for her to have some music lessons, though. Singing wasn't so much of his thing, but he knew music well enough to teach her a few things (and occasionally hand her off to a few colleagues who knew more about singing for a lesson or two).

It didn't take much for Christine to learn she was a bit out of practice. A few months without singing from sheet music had set her back.

She tried throwing herself into her work to keep her mind off of it, but she found her mind constantly drifting back to auditions. She imagined every ideal scenario: she would arrive at auditions, sing, everyone would cheer and cry, and she would be accepted right on the spot. She also imagined every terrible situation: she would go, get up to audition, open her mouth, and before a single note could even escape her they'd cut her off and tell her she wasn't worthy.

She wanted to be good; she wanted to get accepted and sing for audiences; to release her childhood fantasies that forever lingered in her mind. In some way, she believed singing would bring her father back to life. Maybe not physically, but in spirit. He would be there as she sung and he would smile over her as she made music and studied dance at school. She would make him proud.

Despite Christine's attempts at keeping the thought of auditions out of her mind at work, a physical reminder visited her late Wednesday evening before her waitress shift was over.

"Christine," Frederic called to her as she was exiting the kitchen with two arms full of plates for a table of customers. "That man is back. Table five."

She sighed wearily. After serving her customers their food, she walked over to table five. Christine did not want to talk to this man right now. Every second her mind drifted off from work, she found herself to be drowning in a pool of thought. One thought not related to work instilled another thought not related to work, and another, and another. It was not what she needed right now, but she kept her amiable smile and greeted the strange man once again.

"Good evening," he spoke before a word could exit her mouth. For a second her smile faltered, not used to customers greeting her first.

"Hi," she replied, forcing the smile back. She set his coaster down in front of him. "What would you like to drink?"

"Water, please."

Christine left for his water. "Are you interested in an appetizer?"

"No, but I think I'm ready to order," he replied, eyes looking over the menu as if he were trying to commit it to memory.

"Go ahead."

"May I get the lentil soup?"

She nodded. "I'll get that right out for you, sir."

"Are you thinking of auditioning?" he asked, closing his menu and handing it off to her.

His question caught her off guard. She'd nearly walked away, but caught herself mid-step before she was capable of doing so. "Huh? Oh, yes. I'm thinking about it," she replied. Her voice was not her regular confident and friendly waitress voice. It was timid and diffident.

"What song do you plan on auditioning with?"

She hugged the menu tight against her stomach, trying to recall the music which she was studying. "I was thinking about Fauré's 'Ici-Bas' or Dvořák's 'Song to the Moon'."

The man nodded. "Those are good choices. Select your best. Also, try to ready yourself for sight reading. That's another vital part of auditioning."

His advice was helpful, but not in the case of easing her anxiety. She forced a small smile. "Thanks. I'm going to place your order."

Christine was quick to run back and forth between his table and her other customers, lingering longer at her other tables to try and avoid allowing him another chance to initiate a conversation about auditions. She knew she must have appeared rude, but she did not like how nervous he made her feel. Although he seemed to have good intentions, he was not helping. Work now, music later; she told herself.

"Christine," he spoke her name, preventing her from leaving as she gave him the receipt. Her name sounded crisp on his tongue as if it'd been practiced. "Are you working again tomorrow evening?"

She did not want to reply, did not want another reminder of auditions visiting her at work. "Yes," she replied truthfully.

"May you bring the sheet music? I'd like to see it physically."

Was he doubting her? "Sure," she said, nodding to confirm she would despite not wanting to do as he requested.

He smiled. "Thank you for the meal."

* * *

Christine began closing up for the night, stacking chairs and fixing salt and pepper shakers so they sat in the center of the table. It was late Thursday night, and she had done as her strange customer asked by bringing in her music for her auditions. He'd not come, though. He said he would come, right?

She could not keep her mind off him now. She kept pondering on why he made her feel so odd. Was it his appearance? His rigid shoulders? That white mask? No. Oddly enough, it was not his physical appearance that discomforted her. It was that he served as a reminder. Not just of auditions, but of music in general. When he was around, she heard her father's music again; so familiar and close. Did he know he was leading her back down the path which she was trying to move on from? Why was she allowing herself to submit to the requests of a stranger anyways?

"Christine," Kasey called, pulling her from her train of thought. "Table five."

She set her rag down in her bucket and left to grab her music from her purse. She walked over as he sat, eyes inertly looking over the menu.

"I've got the music for you," she said, handing it to him. He set his menu to the side, taking the sheet music without looking at her.

He squinted as he studied it, eventually nodding. "This is good," he said. Christine felt herself relax slightly at his approval of her selection. "Which is your best?"

"I think I'm most familiar with 'Ici-Bas'."

"Then let me hear it." He stood, and she watched with a blank expression as he walked in the direction of the small dining room. He stopped to look back at her, gesturing with his head for her to follow and she caught up with him.

They sat at a table she had yet to finish, traces of water still gleaming off its surface. He handed "Ici-Bas" back to her. Christine stared at him, reluctant to sing for his enjoyment. Surely that's what this was for him: entertainment. Maybe this whole audition thing wasn't real. Maybe he just wanted her to make a fool of herself, to ridicule her for her amateur singing. Christine was certain this was the case, but for some reason she gave him what he wanted.

 _Ici-bas tous les lilas meurent,_ _Tous les chants des oiseaux sont courts;_ _Je rêve aux étés qui demeurtent_ _Toujours_

He listened to her as she sang, eyes scanning her face while his ears scanned for error. "Good," he said once she finished. His approval lifted her spirits a bit.

"You might want to watch your posture. Sit up straight." She corrected herself, straightening her spine. How could she have overlooked posture? It was the number one thing her father had always stressed. Besides, she was a dancer. It was one of their main focuses as well.

He nodded approvingly. "Watch your pitch as well." He must have noticed her spirits drop. Her singing was not good enough? "Your voice is extraordinary," he added with almost a certain urgency. "It's just your pitch is a tad bit off. Otherwise, I think you will be fine."

His eyes looked over her as if he had something else to comment on. "Did you say the salmon was good?" he asked instead. "I think I'd like to have that tonight."


	4. Audition

_A/N: Gahh! Thanks for the reviews, I'm so happy to see people are already enjoying this story. Just gotta keep it up... I'm still going back and revising chapters despite this story being pretty much ready for publishing (I'm too horrified to upload anything if I'm not certain), so sorry if my uploading schedule gets disrupted. I'm trying to make things right! Thanks to all for reading!_

* * *

The day of auditions finally arrived. Christine worked tirelessly on her song, watching her posture as well as her pitch. Despite her efforts, she wasn't satisfied with her voice.

"I just...I just don't sound the same as they do," she complained to Meg after she had arrived home from work late Monday afternoon. She was listening back and forth between a recording of herself and another couple of girls, comparing. "They all sound so amazing and professional, and I'm just...I'm not as good."

Meg rolled her eyes. "Christine, do not worry about how they sound, just worry about being you. Embrace your own voice!"

"I'm beginning to believe I won't be good enough for this choir."

"You're going to go to those auditions today and you're going to do your best and they're going to love you!"

She looked to Meg, nothing but doubt within her eyes. "Are you sure?"

"I know it, Christine! You've been working hard. Besides, if that one man thinks you're good enough, then you must be!"

Christine sighed, shutting her computer. "Alright. I'm going to go get ready."

She decided to wear her best casual dress: a sky blue cotton and spandex gown with a bow at the front, along with her signature silver locket that her father had given her on her twelfth birthday. The locket opened into four panels. On the right panel was a photo of her mother and on the left, her father. In the top panel there was a picture of her as a baby, and in the bottom was a decayed flower petal from her home country Sweden. A twinflower, pink and small, but no less of a comfort item to her. Whenever she felt nervous or lonely, she'd always open up her locket and her family would be there surrounding her, calming her with words of love and encouragement.

Christine arrived at auditions a bit early. Several other people were there, some warming up with scales and other vocal exercises. She sat on a bench in the corner until a man came in baring several sheets of paper.

"If you're here for auditions, please sign in with your name and some way we may contact you," he announced, setting the papers on a table along with a pen. A line began forming. Christine joined, leaving her name and e-mail as contact.

More and more people started to show up. Some were obviously veteran members of the choir. They talked excitedly amongst one another, making the room feel small and airless.

Christine closed her eyes, trying to imagine she was back in Sweden with her mother and father. Her father was playing violin while her mother sat by the fire knitting a blanket for the winter. She was curled up on the couch looking through a picture book her father had purchased for her. _Little Lotte_. She would gawk at the illustrations, run her fingers over each feather on the Angel of Music's wings and practice her reading (although she had already read it a thousand times before). Here she was safe. No one to judge her. Nowhere she had to be. No responsibilities.

The man came back into the room and the crowd of people hushed. "Alright," he said picking up the papers. "We're going to get started, going in order of this list. Jammes Solari?"

People slowly began to trickle out of the room. Christine felt as if her heart was in her throat every time the door opened to call for the next person on the list. She knew they were nearing her name.

* * *

Erik sat off to the far side of the theatre in the shadows so that he could watch the auditions without being seen. He felt that his presence—the white of his mask and his otherworldly stature—often riveted people, and never in a good way. Besides that, he wasn't truly supposed to be there. In recent years, Maestro Gallet would have him accompany singers during auditions, but as the choir grew evermore popular, Maestro wanted to ensure singers were strong enough on their own. Erik, however, just wanted to listen in and listen specifically for one person.

Erik never tried recruiting people. He'd heard some good performers on the street. Good singers were a dime a dozen, but her? She was exquisite, not like the rest. She had so much potential in that voice of hers and the world deserved to hear it. There was something else there as well, something enrapturing. He was not sure exactly what it was, but her voice touched his soul in a way no other voice had. Erik just sat patiently, praying she'd be there and Maestro would see her potential as he did.

The first several auditions had gone well with the exception of one girl who had obviously not known how to control her voice. Erik wracked it up to nerves. Hopefully she was not as nervous.

Then Christine appeared from behind the curtain and took the center stage. She was lovely out of her waitress costume. Sweet and ethereal, curls bouncy and eyes bright. Erik sat up and leaned forward, wanting to hear her as clear as possible.

"Tell us your name and what song you'll be singing," Maestro directed from the front row.

"My name is Christine Daaé," she said, "and I'll be performing Fauré's 'Ici-Bas'." Erik smiled. Her voice was sweet, not her usual. It was the one he heard when she sang.

"Go ahead, Miss Daaé."

She fixed her posture and drew in a breath of air. The notes that flowed out of her filled every corner of the theatre with sunlight. Her voice warmed his heart, so pure and innocent yet so unique at the same time. The maestro cut her off and thanked her, moving on to sight reading. Christine was handed a sheet of music from one of the assistants and looked over it quickly.

"Begin," Maestro directed. She fixed her posture, starting from the beginning. Again, her voice demanded Erik's attention. He listened, hearing that she was watching her pitch. It wasn't entirely perfect, but it was enough to show she understood how to read and had the right to be in the choir. The maestro cut her off half-way through, thanking her and asking for the next person on the auditioning list. She bowed slightly, handing the sheet music back to the assistant, and left the stage.

* * *

Christine was led out of the theatre by some man who was assisting with the auditions. He pointed to a door. "That will lead you behind the theatre and from there you can take a right to head back to the parking lot."

"Thank you," she replied.

Christine felt a little flustered. She was cut off before she could even get to the good part of her song, the part she knew showed her fullest potential. She just hoped they saw something in her that made her stand out from the rest.

She headed out the door and turned right as she was told.

"Christine," a familiar voice from behind called her name. She stopped and turned, finding its owner: the customer that had informed her of the auditions.

She smiled meekly, taken off guard by his sudden presence. "Hey," she replied as he approached her.

He stopped a yard away from her and clasped his hands together, giving himself a second to catch his breath. "You did excellent," he said with a small smile.

She turned herself more to face him better, grabbing onto the strap of her purse as if he might try to steal it. "You were watching?" This was the second time he'd listened in on her without her knowledge. She knew auditions weren't a private thing, but the thought of him watching in again without her knowing still discomforted her.

He nodded. "I'm the pianist for this choir," he explained. "I decided to sit in for the auditions just to get an idea of what the singers will be like for the year."

"Oh," Christine replied with fresh understanding.

They stood there in awkward silence for a moment, Christine unsure of what to say. Why was he not taking on the responsibility of this meeting? Wasn't he the one who initiated it?

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, breaking the silence. "I haven't properly introduced myself." He reached his hand out. "My name is Erik."

She took it reluctantly, shaking his hand. "Nice to meet you, Erik," she said, putting on a small, friendly smile.

He released her hand, making sure not to shake for too long. "I'm sure we'll be working together soon. You've got a lovely voice and you did well, so I don't doubt you'll be accepted."

She shrugged, trying to repress a small blush.

"Well," he said, clasping his hands back together. "I guess I'll see you around."

"See you," she said, turning as he did. "Wait!" she yelled, turning once more. He stopped and pivoted back to her. "When should I receive news of whether or not I got in?"

He pursed his lips in thought. "Most likely tomorrow night. They'll have to go through and discuss who is cut and who is not, but they like to go through the process quickly."

Christine nodded and shot him a genuine smile. "Thank you," she said and turned back, heading for her car.

Despite the slight awkwardness, she was glad he had approached her after her audition. Surely the pianist for the choir would know a good singer when he heard one. Besides that, she was happy to have finally met him. He seemed much more personable outside of the restaurant setting, yet he still elicited mixed feelings within her. He _had_ stopped to watch her dance and sing when she thought she was alone and safe to do so. He also broke into her routine at work, forcing her from her comfortable position in the small dining room. But he seemed nice. Yes, in spite of all the ways he had made Christine feel uncomfortable, she had now decided that he was...nice.


	5. Lasagna

Erik left after auditions, bombarding Maestro with e-mails asking him to send a rough copy of who was to be accepted into the choir for the new year. Maestro was prompt in e-mailing Erik back.

 _I will inform you of my decisions later this evening._

Erik felt like every nerve inside of him was on end. Every fifteen minutes, he found himself walking back to his computer to check if Maestro had replied. It wasn't until around midnight when he received another e-mail.

 _Here is the list,_ it opened.

Erik's eyes searched frantically over the list of people. He read through it once, twice, then once more slower. He must've been skipping over her name. No. It was not there. Why was her name not there?

He stood from his computer, not giving himself a single second to go change out of his pajamas and into something more presentable. His keys found their way into the ignition of his vehicle with their usual accuracy and the engine sputtered to life. Every couple of minutes he'd realize he was speeding. It didn't matter how many times he corrected his speed, lifting his foot slightly off the gas, he'd always end up with his foot hard against the pedal. This was unlike him, he realized. He acted as if someone were going to die. Yes, maybe _he_ was going to die. Surely he would die if he could not convince Maestro.

He arrived at his door, fist knocking impatiently on the thick oak. A figure started to approach, changing the color of the stained glass in the center of the frame. The door cracked open.

"Erik?" An exhausted maestro whispered, peeking out.

"Maestro, can we discuss this list of yours?" Erik spoke boldly.

"Erik, it is almost one in the morning."

"Sorry, let me rephrase. Maestro, we are _going_ to discuss that list of yours." He forced his way in, his maestro silent and bewildered by his behavior.

Maestro Gallet took to his chair in the living area while Erik paced in front of him.

"But Maestro, she has the most brilliant voice I've ever heard," Erik argued.

"This is not a matter of your opinion, Erik. I do not work for you; I work in the best interests of the choir as a representative of Paris itself."

"Were you not even listening when she sang?"

"Erik, what has gotten into you?" Maestro's voice was etched with shock. Erik groaned, realizing he was getting nowhere. "Have you been shot by cupid's arrow? You've never been so...involved."

"Which is exactly why you should let her in!" he exclaimed, falling at the knees of his maestro. "Please," he begged. "She is superb. She has so much potential! Please, just give her a chance."

Maestro sat unmoved by Erik's words, his finger twitching slightly out of apathy.

"I will make it worth your while," he promised. "Please."

* * *

Tuesday night came and passed with Christine's shift. Her mind drifted off a few times, wondering whether or not her audition went well. It wasn't until she arrived home that she checked her e-mail.

 _Audition results,_ the subject of a recent message read.

She clicked on it immediately, her finger not hesitating once in thought.

 _Below is the list of people who made the choir._

Christine's eyes searched frantically over the list. Then she saw it.

 _Christine_ _Daaé_

A wave of relief rushed over her and she felt weightless. She made it. She made it!

 _Rehearsals are Monday's at 6 P.M. If you have any questions, comments, or concerns; please don't hesitate. We hope to see you next Monday!_

Christine texted her manager to schedule all of her Monday shifts in the morning. She headed off to bed feeling as blissful and warm as ever. When was the last time she felt so happy?

Whatever. She didn't let that small burn of melancholy overtake her. This was her moment to enjoy. She earned this.

* * *

Friday night came and Christine was back in her old routine of bussing tables and packing up for the night. She found herself in sort of a dream-like state, swinging her hips and humming tunes from her childhood.

"Christine," Frederic called, interrupting her workflow.

She turned. "Yes?"

"That man's here for you again."

Christine sighed happily and took off her cleaning apron, heading towards the back to pull her waitress apron back on. Before, she wouldn't have been so enthusiastic about seeing this man, but now? Maybe she could admit she was warming up to his presence. She remembered her usual waitress smile as she approached her customer. Erik.

"Hey," she said, setting a coaster down on his table. "What would you like to drink?"

He smiled. "Water, please."

"Alright, I'll be right back." She came back with his water and set it on the coaster. "Interested in any appetizers tonight?"

"Actually," Erik said, "I think I'm ready to order."

"Alright," Christine said. "What would you like?"

"You said you enjoy the lasagna, correct?" he asked, raising his brow.

Her upper lip twitched. Had he memorized _all_ of her recommendations? "Yes," she replied with a small nod.

"Then I'll have that tonight," he said, shutting the menu and handing it to her.

"I'll be right back with your order, then." Christine shot him a brief smile, using her signature over-enthusiastic waitress voice. She shook her head while she walked away. Why was she being so fake? Why was she upset with herself for just acting as she was expected to at her job?

The lasagna was already freshly baked, so Christine did not have to wait for it very long. She took the platter back to Erik and set it on his table.

"Anything else I can get for you?" She asked, clasping her hands in front of her.

He looked to her. "Will you sit with me and talk?"

She paused. This was not routine. First, he'd thrown her off by watching her, then he threw her off by requesting her to serve him, then he wanted her to sing for him, and now he was asking her to sit with him? What kind of restaurant did he think this was?

"Uh," Christine said, unsure how to respond. "I don't know if that would be very proper of me."

"Ah," Erik said. "I understand, but aren't I your only customer right now?" She swallowed. He was obviously determined. "Besides," he added, "I want to talk to you."

Christine hesitated and looked up to see if anybody was watching. She saw no one and slid into the seat in front of him. He smiled and began unraveling his silverware from its napkin.

"I saw you got in," he said.

Christine nodded and smiled. "Yes."

"See? I told you that you had nothing to worry about."

Christine shrugged. "It's been a while since I've sung, honestly. At least in a performance setting."

"So you've performed before?"

"I used to travel with my father. He would play violin with several small orchestras, often as a soloist. Sometimes he'd play and I'd sing for a small crowd on the street to spread awareness for an upcoming performance."

"Really?" Erik said, surprised. "That sounds like quite some fun. Is he still traveling?"

Christine shook her head and dropped her gaze to his plate. "He passed away earlier this year."

Erik paused as he set his napkin in his lap. His voice dropped. "I'm sorry."

Christine shook her head. "It's fine." Her voice was soft as she tried to keep from choking on the tears that were begging to come. Oh, this man. This man brought to work everything she did not want. All she wanted was to focus on work, to keep her mind off the past. Off of music, off of her father. He was denying her freedom from her own darkness.

Erik cut his lasagna and set the fork on the other side of the plate, pushing it towards her. "Eat," he said.

She looked at him with glossy eyes and shook her head. "I cannot when I'm on duty."

"You will not get in trouble," her assured her, a certain softness within every corner of his voice. "I will not allow you to. I know you enjoy this meal, so eat."

Hesitantly, she took the fork and stabbed into one square slice of lasagna. She brought it up to her mouth and chewed slowly, trying not to look into his eyes. She was afraid she would lose her last bit of composure if she did.

"Christine," he said, forcing her to look up. "If you ever need to talk," he pulled a card from the inside of his jacket and extended his hand for her to take it, "call me. Or text or e-mail. Whatever works for you."

Christine swallowed her bite and took the card from his fingers, slipping it into her pocket. She took once last bite and stood, leaving the booth. "I must return to work. Thank you, Erik."

He nodded with a small, sad smile. She left and returned with another set of utensils, coming back several times to refill his water and give him the check.

Christine finished her cleaning and left work. As she laid in bed, she couldn't keep her mind off of their exchange. His hands, the way his fingers curled around the fork and knife with such meticulous precision. It was no wonder he was a pianist. His voice, the fact he gave his food to her and wanted her to sit with him to talk, and his tip. He was a peculiar man, but she was beginning to find that she enjoyed his company. Even if he served as a reminder of all the aching in her heart.


	6. Longing

Christine arrived early at the theatre Monday evening to allow herself plenty of time to sit and relax before her first rehearsal. She was ecstatic about being accepted into the choir. There was always something thrilling about the idea of performing in front of audiences, no matter what size.

Then it occurred to her: she was now part of a well-renown choir in which every member was most definitely an excellent singer that had been training and studying music most of their lives. Although she had been surrounded by music all her life, she was certain she wasn't as passionate and studious about singing as they were. She had only sang because it made her father smile and allowed her to enjoy more time with him. If she were to survive in this choir, she would have to work a little harder; study a little more; earn her place. She would be willing, she decided. If she had to put a little more work into her voice, she would.

Six o'clock came around and more people had shown up. Eventually, they were led out to the stage to start rehearsal.

"Alright," their maestro spoke, introducing himself as Maestro Gallet. His assistants helped pass out music binders as they were arranged for rehearsals.

Erik walked in from stage left. "Ah, Erik. Here at last!" Maestro Gallet exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

"Sorry for being late," he apologized, his long legs striding across the stage and towards a grand piano. "I thought I had my music in order. Turns out I accidentally grabbed last year's repertoire instead of this year's when I left the house."

Maestro Gallet smiled and shook his head, tutting. "At least you've got your music. Ladies and gentlemen," he said, gaining the attention of the choir once more, "this is Erik, our pianist."

Erik bowed before turning to lay out his music on the shelf of the piano. Christine watched as he took his seat, observing his music. His fingers walked across the top edges of the sheet music, stopping to pluck out a piece and bring it to the front. His actions appeared so mechanical, so precise.

The girl next to Christine nudged her with an elbow. Christine stood tall and wide-eyed. What had she missed? Maestro chuckled a bit and rolled his hand forward to gesture her to speak. "Your name and your voice."

"Oh," Christine spoke softly, blushing in embarrassment. "Christine Daaé. I'm a soprano." She looked back at Erik, his eyes looking into hers. She blushed harder. Oh, she must've been so red. This was already going downhill and they hadn't even started singing! Erik must've been realizing as well how bad an idea it was for her to join.

Erik's lips curled into a small smile and his eyes softened. She relaxed a bit, offering him a bashful smile in return, and he brought his gaze back to his music.

"Alright," the maestro clapped. "We're going to start with vocal exercises and warm-ups every rehearsal. Tonight will be cut a bit short, but we'll do some sight reading and discuss what shows we have planned coming up."

They delve into scales, arpeggios and other singing exercises as Erik played the piano for them to follow along. As they started sight reading, Christine found herself mind drifting from focusing on her own music to Erik's playing. It felt as if it calling to her. She forced herself out of its hypnotizing trance, not wanting to disappoint the maestro. Not on her first day. She'd already failed him once. Not again.

 _Prove yourself, Christine,_ she said to herself. _Prove you deserve to be here._

They wrapped up, discussed future concerts, and called the rehearsal to a close.

Christine wanted to talk with Erik after rehearsal, but she saw Maestro had the same idea. Instead of leaving, she just walked to the bathroom and acted like she was busy. Eventually she left and returned to the stage to see if he was still there, hiding behind a curtain to make sure she didn't get caught wandering around after rehearsal.

The piano was vacant, the lights were turned off, and the theatre was empty. Her shoulders slumped.

"Good job tonight, Miss Daaé."

Christine jumped, startled. She could've sworn no one else was there. She turned to find Erik standing behind her. He smirked.

"Wanted to stay after hours to see the theatre?" There was a sense of mockery in his tone.

She shook her head and held her music binder tight against herself. "No," she replied, her voice soft and defensive.

He looked her up and down as if he were analyzing her outfit, looking for something to pick apart or comment on. "Come," he said suddenly, beckoning her with his head. He led her behind the stage and through a door. They walked down a long hall until he turned a corner and stopped at a door.

"If there is anyone still lurking around, they won't hear us talking in here," he said, turning the handle and pushing the door open, revealing a small practice room with a piano, a bench, and a music stand. He nudged her back with his hand to encourage her through the doorway. The slight touch of his fingers made her shiver, but she entered the room. The walls and door were padded with studio foam for soundproofing.

Erik closed the door and gestured Christine to sit on the bench. She took her seat and Erik moved the music stand to the side, preferring to remain standing.

"Where did you learn to play?" she asked softly.

He faced her, shrugging. "Self taught. Although I've had a few teachers, I never truly learned the piano from them."

Christine smiled, her eyes shining bright. "You play so wonderfully."

Erik smiled back. "Might you be interested in possibly practicing with me?" Her smile faded. He wanted her to practice with him? But...he seemed so well-prepared. He must've practiced a thousand times before. Did he really need practice? "I just thought that maybe you would like to. You said it's been a while since you've truly sung, so maybe it would help you."

She nodded. It was true. Maybe practice would help her. What could it hurt? "Sure."

* * *

Christmas came. Christine had not thought about it. When her father passed, she refused to think about how she would be left to spend the holidays alone. She was sure she would not have to, not with Meg there, but Meg had other plans.

"Are you sure?" Meg asked after she informed Christine of her boyfriend Thomas' plans to have her meet his family for Christmas dinner at his place.

"I'm sure, Meg. Go have fun. Do not worry about me," Christine replied, throwing on her most genuine smile. Meg hugged Christine and left to get dressed.

After Meg left, Christine decided to throw herself into a days worth of Christmas movies. Two and a half hours in, she grew tiresome and decided to leave out for hot cocoa and a nice walk in the cold. Anything to take her mind off of things.

She sat by the window of the coffee shop, feeling the cold winter air through the glass while she watched cars pass by and admired Christmas lights flickering in the distance.

"Is this seat taken?" A voice interrupted her state of meditation. She turned, looking up. Erik.

She smiled, shaking her head in response. He took the seat beside her. This man seemed to be everywhere, but she did not mind his presence. Especially not right now.

"How's your Christmas going?" he asked.

She shrugged and sighed. _Horrible,_ she thought to say, but didn't want to disturb him with any of her self pity.

He laughed, a deep chuckle that warmed her ears. "I understand. The holidays can be quite drab. I'm not one much for Christmas."

"Really?" she asked. Christmas had always been her favorite time of the year. Everything seemed so joyous and cheerful, giving and getting. She wished everyday could be like Christmas. Just...not like _this_ Christmas.

"I just haven't ever been, I guess," he shrugged.

"Not even as a child?"

He looked down towards his cup, a small stream of heat rising from the hole in his lid. "I guess not all of us have had the best childhood when it comes to the holiday season."

Christine saw the light in his eyes die and she wanted to ask more about his childhood, but she took the hint that now was not the time.

His face shot back up as he met her eyes with his own. "Would you like to go take a walk with me? See the lights?"

She smiled. "Sure."

They stood and walked down the street towards the square where everything was decorated for Christmas. Lights were strung up like power lines, wreaths hung from every street light, a silhouette of Santa and his reindeer sat on the roof of a building.

"They always do such a wonderful job," Christine remarked.

"I'll admit," Erik said, "it's quite impressive."

They walked to the shop of a window. Inside was a small snow village display. Miniature people were skating in the center on a frozen pond, a train circled the village on a track, and carolers sang merrily in front of a church.

"Why doesn't the choir sing Christmas music?" Christine asked, admiring the tiny carolers.

"Maestro Gallet likes to keep the choir free of religious association to encourage more people of different backgrounds to join and more people to come see our shows," Erik explained. "Besides, I'm pretty sure he's Jewish."

Christine nodded, laughing slightly at how nonchalantly he added his assumption of their maestro's religious background into his explanation. "That makes sense."

They continued walking around the square, making it back to where they began. Christine finished her hot chocolate and Erik threw their cups away in a nearby trashcan.

"Thanks for walking with me, Miss Daaé," Erik said.

"Christine," she corrected him.

"Christine." Something about the way he said her name made her want to hear it again. He smiled, making the malformed upper edge of his lip disappear beneath his mask. "I'll see you at five Monday?" he asked, cocking his head.

"You shall."

He flashed her another smile as he turned to leave. "Thanks again."

Christine had taken Erik's brief presence for granted just as she had her father's. While she enjoyed his presence for the time being, his absence made it all the more worse. Christine headed back to her apartment. It was late now and Meg had not returned. She was sure she was going to spend the night, so Christine headed off to bed. She couldn't help from allowing herself to fall apart there, tears soaking her pillow. She was tired, but not the sleep type of tired. No, she was a different type of tired; an unspeakable exhaustion overwhelmed her soul now. She wasn't sure if she'd make it through the night. Not without her heart crumpling into a thousand pieces.

* * *

Erik had spent his entire day in a recording studio trying to work on a few songs for some bands he worked with. By the end of the session, he'd written four and a half songs. He loved music, but it took a lot out of him sometimes. He just needed to relax, sit down, and enjoy a nice hot cup of coffee. It was surprise finding Christine sitting alone at the coffee shop he visited regularly, and even more surprising when he received a text while he was pulling into his driveway.

 _Hey, Erik. This is Christine. I know we were just hanging out, but would you mind possibly coming over?_

His thumb twitched at the sight of her text.

 _Sure. Where?_ he replied.

She sent her address and apartment number.

It was about a twenty minute drive back into the city for him, but he figured it would be nice spending more time with Christine.

He knocked lightly on the apartment door, listening as small footsteps shuffled behind it. A solemn-eyed Christine greeted him, wrapped in a large blanket that appeared to swallow her whole.

"Hello," she said, a small smile running across her face.

He walked in, looking around. The space was quite small compared to what he was used to, but it was cute and livable. A quaint kitchen sat to the left with a center island and ahead of him was a living area where a flat screen television sat playing _A Christmas Story._

"Are we watching Christmas movies?" he asked, incapable of holding back a small smirk.

Christine closed the door. "I was, but we can watch something else."

Erik wasn't much of a Christmas man—this she already knew—but he sensed she enjoyed watching the movies, so he was certain he could withstand a night of them. "I'm fine. We can watch Christmas movies."

They moved to the couch, Erik to one side and Christine to the other. She pulled the blanket around herself so it sat on her lap rather than her shoulders, and leaned forward to grab her bowl of popcorn before relaxing back against the couch. She tossed one end of her blanket towards him, hoping it would cover his lap just enough. It did not, however, only reaching the side of his leg. She pouted her lips, upset by her failed attempt. He laughed it off, pulling the blanket up, and moving closer to the center of the couch. Christine followed his lead, moving closer as well to share more blanket with him.

"Popcorn?" she asked, extending her bowl in his direction.

"No thanks," he refused, shaking his hand. "I'm not hungry." He wasn't a man for popcorn either, but he decided it was best to leave this detail out.

Erik watched as she turned her gaze back to the movie, eyes as empty as her actions in bringing popcorn to her mouth, chewing and swallowing slowly. He wanted to ask her what was wrong, why she didn't invite him over when they were together earlier, and why her eyes had lost their shine in the short span of time he'd been gone. He figured it was best not to, though. He knew so little of her and to ask these things was to intrude on her personal life. If she did not want to speak of them openly, perhaps she did not want to speak of them at all.

It wasn't long until Erik realized exactly why Christine had invited him over. Besides the sounds coming from the television and the occasional rustle of popcorn in her bowl, it was unbearably quiet. He recognized that silence; the same silence he was subjected to. It was painful and he was sure it was all the more painful for her considering she must've always had her father to depend on for company. Now there was no one. No one except for him.

The movie neared its end and Christine had laid her head towards the end furthest from him, her legs scrunched up so she would not invade his side of the couch. She seemed peaceful in sleep.

Erik stood, removing the bowl of popcorn that she was guarding as subtly as he possibly could, and set it on the table in front of her. He pulled the blanket up so that it sat over her shoulders and covered a rogue arm that was once holding the bowl. She stirred a bit, her eyes lifting to look at him for a brief moment before closing back.

"Goodnight, Christine," he whispered, walking towards the door.


	7. Practice

Christine hadn't felt so nervous when she accepted Erik's invitation to practice, but with every second she allowed it slip her mind she found herself overflown with anxiety and reservations. She wanted to improve, but more than that she did not want to disappoint him nor embarrass herself.

Monday came and Christine was running behind. 5:12. She promised she'd be there at five. Oh, he must've thought she had forgotten. Or worse: that she lied about wanting to practice.

She walked quickly down the main hall and turned the corner. As she did, she ran into the very man she was supposed to be practicing with, closing her eyes as her face collided with his chest. He grunted, stepping back to keep himself from falling. Something metal hit the floor with a clang and Christine backed up.

"Sorry!" she yelled, cheeks red with embarrassment.

He laughed it off, reaching down to grab the bottle he dropped. "It is fine. I was just going to the fountains to fill up."

She frowned. "Sorry I'm late, I meant to be here earlier."

He chuckled. "It's fine. If you want to, go head in and get set up. I'll join you in a bit." He turned the corner and Christine walked back towards the practice room. His music was already set up on the piano's shelf. She flipped through to see what order he had his in and arranged hers accordingly on the music stand.

Erik entered the room, shutting the door back with a soft click. "Ready?" he asked, setting his bottle on top of the piano.

"Ready."

He sat down at the bench and began playing. Christine came in comfortably at first until she lost her key.

Erik stopped, realizing she was struggling. "Would you like me to play your part for you?"

"Sure," she nodded.

Erik extended his hand. "Your music?"

She plucked the sheet music off her stand and handed it to him. Erik set the music out over his and moved over on the bench. He patted the little bit of vacant space next to him, and she sat down.

Christine didn't like this. No, he was too terribly close now. And this room was so small. It was all so small and they were so close and now his elbow brushed against her and she wasn't sure what to do. And she wasn't good. No, her singing wasn't good enough and he knew it.

"Christine," he said, pulling her out of her head.

She looked at him, blinking. "What? Yes?"

He smiled a bit. "Let's start two measures ahead of where you are struggling."

She nodded and he began counting. She inhaled to relax herself and started singing. He played along with her, stopping a few times to correct a note. They went back through twice and then once more without stopping.

"Good," he said nodding. A small grin formed on her lips, happy she was improving. He nudged her playfully, grinning as well. "See? You've got this." He returned his gaze to her music. "Again."

They practiced that part several times, polishing it up until Erik was satisfied and Christine was comfortable. She stood and took back to her separate music stand. They played the song back, Erik back on his own part, starting and ending with very little error.

"Excellent," Erik commended, turning to her with a smile. His phone's alarm went off, a bell chiming. He sighed, reaching into his pocket to turn it off. "Guess we should get going."

They packed up their music and left for rehearsal together. Christine was able to sing the song they practiced with little frustration. As they wrapped up rehearsal, Maestro Gallet announced that there was music in the hallway on the table for those who wanted a solo. "Auditions will be held in two weeks, an hour before rehearsal on Monday," he said, clapping his hands and dismissing the choir.

Christine went over to Erik. "Thanks for the practice session," she said. "It really helped."

Erik smiled. "It's my pleasure." He stood and started packing his music. "You helped me as well. I needed to work on that song myself."

"Really? It sounded perfect every time you played."

He sighed. "Nothing's ever perfect in music. But that's the beauty behind it all."

"Yet we work so hard on perfecting it for others to hear," Christine added.

"As we work hard on perfecting ourselves for others."

Christine smirked a bit. "So you're saying we're kind of like music ourselves?"

He shrugged, eyes blinking slowly as they met hers. "Some of us."

"Will we practice again next Monday?"

"Actually," he said, grabbing his folder, "I was thinking maybe we should practice somewhere else. That room gets a bit stuffy and the piano is not necessarily in the best condition for playing. Besides that, I've come to the conclusion that there is simply not enough time for practicing on Mondays. They open the theatre doors a bit later than I'd like."

"When else would we practice, then?"

He pursed his lips, thinking. "Are you busy on Sunday?"

"No. Sometimes I attend church, but I haven't been lately."

He nodded. "Then how about Sunday evening at my place?"

Christine nearly froze. Practicing at the theatre together seemed less private. Even if it was uncomfortable, there was some sort of comfort in knowing others were around. But maybe _he_ needed to be somewhere he'd be more comfortable, she thought. Maybe he needed it more than she did. And maybe it would be refreshing going to someone else's house. In all her time living in Paris, she'd never been over to a friend or colleague's house.

"Sure," she replied.

"It's settled, then. My place at four." He took his phone out from his front pocket. "I'll send you the address and code for the gate."

"Alright," Christine said, turning to leave.

"See you later, Christine."

"Bye."

* * *

"How was it?" Meg asked as Christine walked through the door to their apartment.

"Good." Christine set her purse on a hook by the door. "Erik wants to move practice sessions to Sundays at his place."

Meg sat up. "That's a little...forward, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

Meg laughed at Christine obliviousness. "Christine, it's obvious he's taken an interest in you. I mean, visiting you at work on a regular basis, wanting to practice with you...I think he likes you."

Christine blushed. "No he doesn't."

"How many other singers have you seen him talk to at rehearsal?" Christine stayed silent. He never approached anyone else; never looked at anyone else; never spoke with anyone else besides Maestro. "Exactly!"

Christine shook her head. "We're just colleagues, Meg. I'm sure he has a wife or children, or maybe a girlfriend."

Meg rolled her eyes. "I doubt that considering how much time he has for you."

Christine took a seat by Meg on the couch, sliding her shoes off to relax.

"Did he give you an address?"

"Yes," Christine replied.

"Well, let's look, then!" She leaned forward, grabbing her laptop off the table in front of them. She flipped it open and brought up a search engine, looking over towards Christine for permission to continue.

Christine rolled her eyes and brought out her phone, bringing up their text conversation. She too was curious to see where he lived. Meg typed the address into the search bar and clicked on the correct one. She shifted to street view and waited as the image loaded. Their eyes widened as a large cream-colored estate with an ebony rooftop and iron gate appeared on the screen.

"Well...he's got money," Meg said observantly.

"See?" Christine said, satisfied with the evidence before her. "He's got to have a family of some sort. Why else would someone need such a large house?"

Meg shrugged and looked at Christine, smiling playfully as if she was trying to resist laughter. "Maybe he's just trying to flaunt his wealth in hopes that the girl he loves will love him back."

Christine rolled her eyes and took her phone back, leaving for bed.


	8. Pride

Christine pretended to act surprised by the enormity of Erik's house as she rang his doorbell, but that false surprise turned genuine as he opened the door, revealing a grand foyer behind him with marble flooring and a large crystal chandelier hanging above.

He grinned as she gasped, her eyes looking everywhere except for at him. "Come in," he said, stepping aside to allow her space to enter. Christine held onto her purse as if it would provide some sort of comfort as she stepped through the door and looked up to the high ceiling painted to look like the heavens, angels laying on layers of clouds that circled the center where the chandelier hung.

He closed the door, locking it, and turned to watch her with amusement as she took in every detail of his home.

Christine felt a small tug at the strap of her purse. "May I take this for you?" Her attention was pulled back to her host. She gaped at him, trying to understand what he was saying.

"Huh? Oh, yes. Please." She allowed the strap to fall off her shoulder and into his hands.

"And your jacket?"

"Sure."

He rounded her, lightly gripping the shoulders of her jacket as she slid it over her arms.

"Thanks," she said and returned to gawking at every detail of his home. It reminded her of the theatres she would visit with her father when she was younger. High ceilings, elegant decor, polished floors. He might as well have been living in one.

"Would you like a tour?" His voice sliced clean into her state of awe.

She looked at him as a child would when they wanted something. "Would you?"

"Come," he said, nodding his head in the direction of the staircase.

Christine followed him as he led her upstairs and down a hallway of doors. "I have several bedrooms," he said, opening one door for her to peek in.

The room was painted a light blue with mahogany furniture; a queen-sized canopy bed, dresser, nightstand, and cream button tufted chair.

Christine looked to a door in the room. "How big is the closet?" she asked, turning to him with wonder.

He smiled and led her into the room, opening the closet door and flicking on the light. It wasn't terribly huge, but it was a walk-in and much more spacious than what she ever had. But it was empty. No shoes, no shirts. Nothing. He flicked the light back off and shut the door.

"Shall we continue?"

He showed her his library whose walls were covered by bookshelves filled to the brim with books.

"Have you read all these books?" she asked.

"A good many," Erik replied. "Some I just collected since they're early editions. Others I haven't finished because they were, well, not very well-written. Let's put it that way."

She laughed. "I guess that's one way to say boring."

"Well, not all were necessarily boring," he sighed. "Come. Let me show you more downstairs."

He showed her back downstairs, leading her to the kitchen which had a large fridge and oven range. The counter tops were made of black marble and the floors were tiled like a checkerboard.

"Do you cook?" she asked.

"As often as I can. You?"

She shook her head. "I wish I could. I've tried before and it wasn't bad, but it wasn't as I would have liked it to be."

"Maybe I can show you a few things," he offered. "I'm no chef, but I've received many compliments on my food."

Christine smiled. "I may take you up on that offer."

He showed her his study which was quite small compared to his other rooms. A desk sat in the center of the room with many papers stacked on top including a desktop computer. The wall farthest from the door was lined with bookshelves.

"More books?" she asked incredulously.

He chuckled. "I promise this is the end of my book collection. Well...except for those in my music room."

They moved into another room which was windowless and much more plain and modern compared to the others. A wide screen sat in the front of the room with a large, plush couch facing and a projector overhead.

"A theater?" Christine asked.

"Yes. I was watching a movie before you came."

Lastly he showed her his music room. A grand piano sat in the center with his music already set up. Several bookcases stood on the right wall with binders full of music and books on music theory. On the other wall were several violins and two cellos. A few other instrument sat nearby in their cases.

"How many instruments do you play?" Christine asked in amazement.

Erik shrugged. "Several, but," he said, walking to the piano, "this one is my favorite."

She smiled and he gestured to the duet bench. "Shall we?"

She walked over and opened her folder to bring out a song she'd been struggling with. Erik took the sheet music from her and set it next to his. He shifted through his to pull the piece to the front.

"I'm having trouble at bar 42," Christine said. "May you play it for me?"

Erik did so and then Christine followed along. "Good," Erik said. "But at 45 maybe bring it out a little more?"

She looked at him, dazed. "How so?"

"Like this." He played the pickup note and began singing her part. His voice was more beautiful than any she had ever heard. Possibly more outstanding than the entire choir combined. Every note sounded smooth, polished, and certain. He exemplified outstanding control and emotion.

"Does that make sense?" he asked, looking to Christine as if he was unsure of his teaching abilities. Christine was somewhere else, taken far off into a distant realm by his voice. "Christine?"

She blinked. "Oh! Yes! I've got it."

"Alright," he said. "Back at 42."

Christine fixed her singing so that it mimicked what he asked of her then they went back through the entire song. When they finished, Erik searched through his music to find something else to play.

"Erik?" Christine asked as he debated over two songs.

"Yes?"

"Where is your family?" He blinked at her, not responding. "You've got such a large house. Where is your wife? Your kids?"

"I have no family," he responded brusquely.

"Well, who else lives here with you?"

"No one."

She laughed incredulously. "Surely that cannot be true."

"I live on my own. I practically always have."

"Where do you get all the money for this place, then?"

He returned his eyes to the music in his hands. "I've done many things throughout the years. Now I mostly work on music for several artists and bands."

"Really?" Christine asked, intrigued. "Who?"

His character seemed to falter for a second. "I-I'd rather not say. I never write for myself, truly. I just create what they desire to hear."

"Has any of your music ever made the radio?"

He nodded. "Several."

"Top hits?"

"A few."

She smiled, amazed. "And you're not proud of that?"

He sighed. "I mean, it's brought me great success, but the music I write for them...it's not truly _mine._ You know what I mean?"

She nodded understandingly. "Why don't you write music for yourself?" He looked to her, his expression blank, as if it had never occurred to him that it was a possibility.

"I've been working on a few things lately."

"May I hear it?" she asked excitedly.

"Maybe one day. Once it's finished, I will play it for you." He returned his eyes to the two pieces in his hands.

Christine decided to change the subject, interested to learn more about him. "Where'd you find out about this house?" she asked, looking around. "It's magnificent."

"You like it?" he asked, looking at her once more with sparkling eyes.

"Yes. It's quite nice."

"I built it," he said. "Well, I didn't build it on my own. I designed it."

"Really?" She spoke with a child-like candor.

"Yes," he replied, laughing at how sweet her face was. "I used to be a bit of an architect back in the day. Not so much now."

"What haven't you done?"

He chuckled a bit. "A lot of things, Christine. They're are a lot of things I'd like to do, but those will have to wait." He finally decided on a piece and set it on the piano's shelf. "For now, I'd like us to work on this music. Shall we?"

She nodded and found the piece he selected in her stack. They played through, stopping at certain parts for Erik to tweak things in his music and for Christine to correct herself with added guidance.

The clock in the room sounded with six clangs. Erik frowned. "Six already?"

"I don't have to leave," Christine said. "I've got work in the morning, but I can stay longer."

"Are you sure?" Erik asked. "I'd hate to keep you here for so long."

"No," Christine said reassuringly. "I like it here. I can stay."

Erik grinned. "Alright, then." He shuffled back through his music then paused, turning towards her. "Do you have your music for the soloist auditions?"

Christine shook her head. "I wasn't planning on doing that."

Erik's shoulders slumped. "Why not?"

She shrugged. "I'm not good enough."

"Oh, no," Erik said, wide-eyed. "You're amazing, Christine. You may be out of practice, but you'll be much better than anyone else in the choir by our first concert." She furrowed her brows, unsure that his words were true. "Hold on," he said. He stood and crossed the room towards his shelves, pulling a small binder. He opened it and flipped through, releasing several sheets with a series of small clicks from the metal rings. He placed the binder back and rejoined Christine on the bench. "Here," he said, handing her the soprano soloist music.

She looked at him in protest. He held up his hand to keep her from speaking. "Christine, if I hear you say one more word expressing self-doubt I'll have to cut our practice sessions. I cannot work with someone ungrateful of their abilities."

"Erik-"

"No!" She jumped at his tone. He lowered his voice and grabbed her hand which was not occupied with music. "You're wonderful, Christine. You must audition for a solo. You must share your beauty with others."

She felt warmth rush to her cheeks. Did he just say she was...beautiful? No, he was just complimenting her voice. Yes, only her voice.

The cold press of his hands against her's made her shiver, but she did not retract. They sat there briefly as Erik stared into her soft, protesting eyes with his, hard and persuasive. After what should've been too long holding her hand, he let her go.

His eyes softened with his voice and he sat back up, shoulders rigid once again. "Let's work on that solo music."

They practiced until seven, polishing the soloist songs until Erik was satisfied with their progress. Christine left, backing out of his driveway as he stood in the door watching her as she left.


	9. Dance

It seemed that Erik's interruption of Christine's Friday nights was becoming his own routine. She didn't mind it anymore, genuinely expecting that he'd show up.

"Hey, Erik," Christine greeted him with a plainer—yet still friendly—voice, taking off the mask she usually wore while serving customers. She placed a coaster on his table. "Water?"

He smiled, his eyes glimmering at the fact she had caught onto him. "Yes, I would like water."

Christine left to get his glass. "Are you ready to order?"

Erik hummed in thought, glancing at the menu briefly. "You said the tomato bisque was good, correct?"

She grinned. "Did you remember _everything_ I recommended?" _  
_

He chuckled. "Ah, so I am correct?"

She nodded and took his menu. "Yes. You are correct. I'll be back with your food shortly."

She returned to fill his glass once and then brought out his soup.

"Sit with me again."

Christine sat, less reluctant than before, as Erik unraveled his napkin to retrieve his silverware. "Please don't make me dine with you again," she said, "I'm quite full from my last meal."

Erik laughed. "Whatever you wish."

She sat there and watched as his hand curled around the spoon and guided it around the circumference of the bowl.

"So, Christine, where are you from?"

"Sweden."

"Ah," he said, trying to recall where the country was located. "Yes, it is beautiful there, correct?"

Christine recalled a few childhood memories of visiting the beach in the summertime and how fantastic the view always was. "Yes, it is quite beautiful."

"I'm guessing there must be something about beautiful people coming from beautiful places."

Christine looked up, slightly furrowing her brows in confusion. Erik's eyes met with hers and they were soft, bright. Christine dropped her face to look at her hands in her lap, praying he did not notice her blush. She felt something stir within her stomach. What was this feeling? Butterflies? It had been quite some time since she had experienced those.

"I just thought you might be from somewhere other than France. You're not like other French girls."

She gathered the courage to look at him once more, but his eyes where no longer there. "How so?" she asked.

His figure seemed even more rigid now. "You just are," he answered, incapable of elaborating. Erik continued stirring his soup, changing the subject. "Have you been practicing your music for the upcoming auditions?"

Christine nodded. "Every day."

"Good. Are we still on for our practice session Sunday?"

"Nothing else has come up."

Erik sighed, trying to think of more conversation topics. "What kind of music do you listen to?"

Christine thought. "I enjoy older pop music, 80's mostly." The edges of Erik lips curled as he tried repressing a laugh. "What's so funny?" she asked with miff.

He shook his head, smiling. "I just didn't expect that from you."

Christine rolled her eyes. "What music do you enjoy, then? I'm guessing your taste is _much_ more superior to mine."

He shrugged. "I have a large palette. Classical, rock, alternative, jazz."

"Ah, so you're one of those guys?"

He looked at her with a squint. "What do you mean?"

"One of those guys that refuses to listen to the mainstream stuff. You know," she deepened her voice mockingly, "'I don't listen to mainstream music. That stuff's so basic. I only listen to the good stuff.'"

Erik laughed and shook his head. "I am not one of those guys."

" _Sure_ you aren't."

"I have nothing against pop except for what plays on the radio nowadays. It's quite repetitive."

She laughed. "And isn't that the type of music you usually write?"

He seemed to shrink, his lips pressing together taut. "Yes," he murmured.

"I can't stand most of the pop stuff now," she agreed, "but maybe I've liked your music." She hoped her reply would move him to speak of songs he had composed, revealing to her what he has written.

Instead, he looked to her as if he was catching onto her game, thinking: _you'll have to try harder than that_. "Maybe."

Erik started on his soup, expressing how smooth it was, and Christine left to fill his water so that her co-workers wouldn't get suspicious of her absence. She picked up the receipt to see what he had left as a tip. If it were possible, her jaw would have dropped to the floor and snapped back, knocking her out cold. What does this man want of her?

* * *

Christine arrived at Erik's home with clenched fists. She would've cooled down had she allowed herself to, but she was going to confront him directly.

Erik opened the door with a smile. "Come in."

Christine walked through the door and as soon as he shut and locked it, she pushed the tip of her forefinger in the center of his chest. He looked at her with confusion and worry.

"Why did you leave such a large tip?" Her brows were furrowed and her face petulant.

His face softened as he chuckled. "That's what you're upset about?"

She stomped her foot and retracted her hand. "Do not avoid my question!"

He shook his head. "You deserve such a gracious tip. Don't you think?"

"I feel like I'm robbing you!"

He laughed. "You are not robbing me."

"Well, stop tipping me so much."

"Why should I?" he asked, cocking his head mockingly.

"It's just...it's inappropriate."

"How so?"

Christine stiffened, irritated that he was refusing to look at things from her perspective. "Just...stop tipping me so much, please. It's kind, but it's too much." She turned. "Let's go practice my solo music."

He followed her to his music room where they each sat on the bench as Christine took her music out.

"Let's spend as much time on these as possible. Are you fine with staying until eight? We'll take a break."

Christine nodded. "Eight is fine."

They went over her music, perfecting every little note and measure. Erik pulled her focus to certain parts. "They will be wanting to hear these," he said, marking the sections. "Most singers either make it or break it here."

They polished up every song. Although they were short, it took about half an hour for each. By the time the clock rang six there wasn't much else to fix.

Erik stood from the bench. "Let's take a break. We can come back and go over them once more."

Christine stood and followed Erik to the kitchen. "Would you like something to eat?" Erik asked. "It just occurred to me that our practice session seems to cut right into dinnertime. I'm sorry about that."

Christine laughed. "It's fine I just ate afterwards last time."

"That's too terribly late," Erik said, opening his fridge. "Pot roast or shepherd's pie?"

"Shepherd's pie," Christine decided.

He pulled the pie out in its tin. "I just made this for lunch today, so hopefully it still tastes good."

"I don't doubt it."

"Please sit," Erik said, gesturing to the dining table nearby.

The table was mahogany cut into a large rectangle with an elegant scroll edge and claws for feet. She pulled a chair which was scroll and mahogany as well. It wasn't until then that Christine noticed the large crystal chandelier that hung over the table.

"I like your decorating, but you seem to have quite a fascination with mahogany furniture and chandeliers," Christine commented, admiring the crystal glinting in what was left of the sunlight outside.

Erik laughed as he heated their pie. "I just find it to be tasteful. Do you agree?"

"Yes. Your house is probably the most tasteful I've been to."

"Probably?"

"Well, I've been all over the world with my father. I've seen a lot of tasteful homesteads."

Something is his eyes flickered. "But do you like my house?"

"Yes. It's nice."

He pulled their pie slices from the toaster oven. "I'm glad."

There was some silence besides the small clink of forks on their plates. Erik walked over and set Christine's plate in front of her. "What would you like to drink?" He asked.

"Water, please?"

He nodded, heading to a cabinet. "Would you like some wine as well?" He opened the cabinet, revealing what could only be described as a collection of wine bottles.

"Red?" she asked.

Erik pulled a bottle and two glasses. "This should pair well with the pie." He filled her a glass of water and returned to the table, pouring them each a glass of wine and setting the bottle off to the side with its cork back on.

He was right about the wine. It did pair well with the pie, bringing out its flavors as well as the tartness of the wine. It was unarguably the best meal she'd had in a while.

"So," Erik began speaking, sitting adjacent to her. "What does Christine Daaé do other than sing and work at _Isabella's_?"

Christine swallowed a bite of her pie. "I dance."

"Oh?" She had him intrigued. He had only seen her dance briefly in the restaurant, but he didn't know it was an interest of hers. It did make sense considering her figure.

"I prefer ballet."

His expression reflected his curiosity. "Will you show me something?"

Christine shrank a bit. Was singing not enough for him? She already felt so vulnerable doing that. She did not want to be judged for her dancing. Not now, at least. "I don't know," she spoke softly.

"If you dance for me, I'll play whatever instrument is at my disposal for you. Whatever song you choose."

Christine sighed in defeat. He was not going to give up, was he? "When we get back," she said.

They finished their pie, conversing little about their favorite movies. Erik expressed his preference for the classics while Christine liked newer romantic dramas.

"Typical," Erik said, rolling his eyes.

"What do you mean?" Christine asked, laughing.

"You girls and your chick flicks."

Christine rolled her eyes, scoffing. "Must you always attack my tastes?"

"Only when it's necessary."

They returned to the music room after cleaning up.

"Now," Erik said, sitting on the bench of the piano. "Show me how you dance."

Christine grunted. "Do I really have to?"

"We had an agreement."

Christine squinted at him, trying to think of how to make the situation less uncomfortable for herself. "Fine," she said, "But you must play something I can dance to."

Erik stood and walked to his wall of instruments. "Which shall I play?"

Christine pointed. "The violin."

Erik pulled his best violin off the wall and moved to a case to retrieve a bow that he rosined carefully. "What song?"

Christine thought. "Whatever you find apt," she decided, her mind going blank. Surely he had a repertoire of his own and he could think of something.

Erik smiled. "Of course." He pulled the violin onto his shoulder and placed his chin on its rest. "The Resurrection of Lazarus."

He pulled the bow across the strings. Christine immediately recognized the tune. It was the one she had been singing when he walked in on her, the one whose title she could always feel on the tip of her tongue, yet it always escaped her mind. The one her father had always played. She forgot she was supposed to be dancing, entranced by the music escaping his violin.

Christine closed her eyes, her breath now shallow. She saw her father standing in front of their hotel window, looking down at the street below. His eyes on passing cars, but his soul within the music. She didn't realize the music had stopped because, in her mind, it was still playing. A small smile had formed on her lips and tears started escaping her eyes, running down her cheeks. She missed being here.

"Christine?" Erik spoke, bringing her back. She opened, finding him close, his violin and bow held up in one hand, while his other was reaching for hers. He grabbed her hand, his fingers cool and callused. He squeezed lightly. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, grinning. "Sorry," she apologized, "Please play it again. I will dance this time."

"Maybe I should play something else." He released her hand, bringing his violin and bow back up for playing.

"No!" she insisted. "It was wonderful. I just got...carried away." His eyes were full of nothing but concern. "Please."

He backed away to give her space to dance, starting once again. This time, Christine's mind did not drift and she readied herself, fixing her posture, and gliding across the room with nothing less than the gracefulness expected of a ballerina.

The song came to a finish, Christine ending in an arabesque.

Erik pulled the violin down to his side. "That was magnificent," he said, smiling. "Bravo."

She curtsied and smiled bashfully as Erik turned to put up his violin and bow up. The clock stuck eight. He turned to her with a frown. "I guess we took a longer break than I thought."

"Let's go back through the music," she said. "It's fine if I stay longer. As long as you're fine with it."

Erik nodded. "Sure."

They sat and ran back through the songs, stopping only twice to fix some areas.

"You will be perfect tomorrow," Erik said, packing her music for her. "I have no doubt you will get a solo."

Christine smiled and wrapped her arms around his torso, hugging him. He inhaled sharply and she pulled away.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked, eyes wide with concern.

"No," he said, shaking his head, "Just surprised me is all."

She smiled. "Sorry."

"You're quite fine, Christine." He stood, handing her music to her. He walked her to his front door, watching as she gathered her stuff. "You'll do well tomorrow. Remember, do not doubt yourself," he assured her, opening the front door to allow in a barrage of cold air.

She shivered as she threw her coat on. "Thank you." Christine moved again to hug him one last time. He slowly slid his arms around her, squeezing her back with equal force.

Christine pulled back and shot him one last smile as she walked out to her car. Erik stood there as he had before, watching her as the headlights of her car turned and disappeared around the corner.

* * *

 _A/N: Still trying to go back and add more detail/touch up these chapters. Please review! Thanks for reading!_


	10. Visitor

Auditions weren't all too lengthy. A good handful of singers from the choir showed up, but Christine didn't pay them any mind. She felt more than prepared thanks to Erik's help. When she reached the stage, every worry that she had left inside washed away as the lights bathed out the small, judging audience of the maestro and his few assistants.

"Erik," Maestro Gallet used his conducting voice, "Miss Daaé will be singing for her audition. Miss Daaé, whenever you're ready."

Christine looked to Erik who was awaiting her signal. She breathed to relax and nodded. He played the opening notes, sweet and gentle as they were written. Christine held her posture and allowed her soul to unravel itself before them, focusing on everything she and Erik had worked on together. She reached the upper registry, notes soaring through the heavens and falling back down to earth.

"Excellent," the maestro said as she ended the small section of the solo. "Thank you, Miss Daaé. Next!"

As she turned to leave out into the hall, she looked to Erik for approval. His eyes were closed, fingers still hovering over the ivory keys, smile splaying across his lips. He looked up and turned his head to her slightly, nodding.

It did not matter what the maestro thought. It did not matter what other members of the choir thought. What mattered was what Erik thought. That was all the approval she needed to be satisfied.

* * *

Erik walked Christine to her car after rehearsal.

"You were perfect," he said, applauding her audition. "I hope they give you the best solo they've got for sopranos. You were the best one to audition."

Christine blushed. "I'm sure that's not true."

He rolled his eyes. "Always so modest."

She sighed. "I try." Erik opened her car door for her and she entered, thanking him.

"Oh, Christine," he said, before closing the door, "Would you be interested in coming to my place for dinner Saturday? Maybe we could watch a movie?"

Something sparkled behind her eyes. It had been so long since she had gone to someone else's for dinner. She missed such invitations. "Sure. What time?"

"How about five?"

She scrunched her nose. "That kind of cuts into ballet."

"Then six?"

She nodded. "I could do six, but I'd be coming straight from ballet. I might be a bit of a mess."

He chuckled. "I don't mind. I may be a mess as well considering I'll probably be in the kitchen."

She laughed. "Alright. See you then."

He nodded and shut her door, watching her pull off.

* * *

As soon as Christine opened the front door of her apartment, Meg shot up from the couch and turned, walking towards her. Her eyes were wide.

"Christine," she said with a certain urgency, "You're never going to guess who visited while you were gone."

Christine closed the door, looking at Meg with amusement. "Was it a celebrity?" she asked, mockingly.

"No," Meg said. "Well, not exactly."

"Tell me already!" Christine urged.

"Raoul de Chagny."

A sort of unknown force seemed to strike Christine in the chest. "R-Raoul?" Her voice was soft now.

Memories of her past with Raoul came in a quick, overwhelming wave. The first time they met, how he swam through the freezing waters to retrieve her treasured scarf, kissed her lips for the very first time, held her tight as she cried after reminiscing over her mother. Her first love and she thought the love of her life. But he left her, dropped her without much regard all for the sake of his family business.

He had invited Christine to parties of all sorts to be his escort, but Christine didn't enjoy that lifestyle all too well. She made countless excuses just to avoid seeing him waste himself with a bunch of other party guests. They all pretended to be happy, but they didn't see the truth. None of them were happy and Christine did not want that, but she wanted him. She wanted him and loved him for the person he truly was, and he loved her, but he grew tired of her excuses.

 _Do you want me or not Christine?_ He texted her late one night.

 _Of course I want you. I love you._

 _It doesn't feel like it. Every time I invite you somewhere you've always got some excuse._

 _I just don't like parties._

 _These events are a big deal for me and my family's business. How am I to have you if you cannot at least support me at these things?_

 _I'm sorry, Raoul. I love you._

 _I'm tired of the lies and excuses, Christine. I think we need to take a break._

 _No! Please!_

 _You know this is what's best for us._

That had been over a year ago. She had practically forgotten about it. How had she forgotten after all the tears? All the moments they had shared together? It seemed as if he had never existed.

Meg continued speaking, breaking Christine's line of thought. "He came to send you his condolences over your father." She paused, lowering her voice. "And he wants to get back with you."

Christine felt a rush of emotions overcome her. Love, hate, fear, anxiety, sorrow. Every one all at once. How could one feel so many things all because of one person's actions?

Meg pulled a card from her pocket. "He told me to give this to you. He wants to take you to lunch Sunday. He wanted to do dinner, but I told him you were busy."

Christine took the card. His cellphone number was written on the back. She headed off to bed and opened her phone.

 _Hey, Raoul. This is Christine. Where do you want to meet for lunch?_ she typed.

Her thumb hovered over the send button, waiting for a small twitch of the muscle or a voluntarily stroke to make her decision.

* * *

 _A/N: Sorry I've been a bit absent lately. I had a busy weekend. Hopefully back on my regular publishing schedule! Thanks for all the reviews!_


	11. Hospitality

When Christine rang Erik's doorbell, he was in the kitchen working diligently on the creme brûlée he planned to serve for dessert.

He answered the door absent of his suit jacket, sleeves rolled up right below his elbows, and blue-and-white striped apron tied around his waist. Christine was just as prepared: leggings and thin-strapped top still on from her rehearsal. She carried a workout bag with her. Erik took her coat as was routine.

"May I go change in one of your bathrooms?" She asked, picking her bag back up.

He hung her coat nearby. "Sure. Follow me." He led her down the hall towards the kitchen, stopping short of its entrance and pushed open a door to the left, flicking on a light for her.

"Thanks," she said, offering him a smile of gratitude before entering and closing the door behind her. She pushed the lid of the toilet seat down, setting her bag on top.

Erik continued with the creme brûlée and checked on the roasted chicken. By the time Christine exited the bathroom, Erik was adding finishing touches to their dishes, placing a small garnish on top of her chicken.

He looked up, watching as she headed towards the table. Her long, brown curls cascaded down below her collarbones, out of its small ballerina bun. She now wore a satin blue dress that fell just above her knees and left her small, lean arms open for viewing. She looked down at his work and back up to him with a smile that warmed his heart as much as it made it falter.

"This looks wonderful, Erik."

Her eyes sparkled as they looked into his. If he wasn't as strong, he might've dropped to his knees there, proclaimed his love for her and left behind all his misery. But he could not let himself go so easily. No, he had to maintain himself.

He cleared his throat, looking back at his own work. "Roasted chicken with a balsamic vinaigrette and a side of vegetables." She smiled at the pride he took in his work. "And," he said, holding up his finger while walking to the counter, "creme brûlée for desert." He picked up two small ceramic dishes and headed back to her, setting one in front of each of their plates.

"Would you like wine?" he asked.

"Sure," she replied.

He pulled his best bottle along with two glasses and poured them one each. Christine sat as he set their glasses on the table and removed his apron, hanging it back up. He sat adjacent to her as he had before.

"So," Erik said, starting at his plate, "how was rehearsal?"

Christine cut into her chicken. "It was good. We've got a recital coming up soon. I've been meaning to tell you. I can't do our practice session next Sunday."

"Where's your recital?"

"In Cergy."

"That's a bit of a drive. What time?"

"5 P.M." He grunted, squinting at his food. "Are you thinking of coming?" Christine asked.

He shrugged. "I'll try. No promises."

She smiled, feeling her chest warm with the potential of his presence in the audience at her recital.

"If you don't mind me asking, where did you learn to sing?" he asked.

"My father."

He cautioned himself in his questioning now, wanting to tread lightly on the topic. "Did he sing as well?"

"No," she laughed slightly. "He wasn't all that talented in that area, but he always said I had my mother's voice and that's why I could sing."

He smiled and then the edge of his lips settled back down. "Where is she?"

Christine's expression darkened. "She's passed."

"I'm sorry, Christine."

She shook her head. "It's fine. She died when I was too young to really get to know her."

Erik decided it was best to stop speaking and thought of how to change the subject.

"You know," Christine laughed with a small added sniffle, "before my father passed he told me that he'd send an angel of music to watch over me." She looked down at her nearly empty plate and smiled. "I can't help but think he has."

A gentle smile splayed across Erik's face. "He's watched over you as well."

She looked up to him with wet cheeks. "I like to think so." Her smile faltered and she turned away, covering her face from his viewing.

Erik stood to retrieve a tissue from a nearby box and knelt beside her so that she could see him, holding the tissue up for her to take. She plucked it from his hands without looking him in the eye.

"Thanks," she sniffled.

He stood, pulling his chair next to hers, and sat back down. Hesitantly, he reached up to pull her head against his chest. Fingers tangled into her hair and slightly kneaded at the side of her head to soothe her. She let go and gave in, allowing fresh tears to pour down her cheeks. Erik held her tighter as small whimpers escaped her throat until she collected herself and wiped her tears away. Erik pressed his lips to the crown of her head.

"It will be alright," he crooned, "You will be alright."

* * *

They skipped dessert. Erik put the creme brûlée away in the fridge and sent Christine to his small theater's library to select what movie they should watch. Erik stayed in the kitchen to clean up before he joined her in the theater.

"How to Steal a Million?" Christine asked, holding up a classic film starring Audrey Hepburn playing a girl named Nicole and Peter O'Toole as Simon. The disc's case was still in its wrapper.

"Sure," Erik replied. He took the DVD from her, unwrapping it and setting the plastic to the side. He popped it into his DVD player, warming it up with the press of a button.

Christine sat on the couch in the center, pulling a soft blanket from the back of the couch onto her shoulders. She slid her shoes off and folded her legs beneath her.

Erik joined her after hitting the start button, maintaining a respectful distance.

"May I have more wine?" she asked.

Erik looked at her, unsure of whether or not giving her more alcohol was appropriate. He couldn't deny those sad, brown eyes.

He left for the kitchen and returned with a fresh glass, pouring more wine for her.

"Thank you," she said, taking the glass.

Erik set the bottle aside as they watched the movie. It was perfect for the both of them: all the aspects of romance which Christine sought and all the great characteristics of a classic movie for Erik.

They reached a scene in which Nicole and Simon were trapped in a museum closet together. Simon threw a boomerang to set off the alarm, running back into the closet with Nicole to hide as they waited for the guardsmen to turn off the system so that they could steal a piece of artwork.

"That's quite clever," Erik said. "This is why I love the classics. New movies always seem to lack a sort of...cleverness."

Christine rolled her eyes. "Have you been to a theater at all lately?"

"Maybe I'd say I have if there was ever anything good out."

"Come on," Christine nagged him. "Do you truly believe that everything in the theaters nowadays is not worth your viewing?"

"I'd say so."

She rolled her eyes once more. "Maybe if you'd just give it a try."

"Well, what would you recommend to me?" Erik asked, squinting in challenge.

She shrugged. "I'll find something that I might think you'd like and we can go together so I can watch your face as you enjoy the movie."

Erik's heart thumped. Yes, he would like that. He pursed his lips, his eyes squinting some more. "I doubt you'd see me enjoying it."

"Oh, I'll get you," she said, a child-like flirtation in her voice. Maybe she'd reached her limit of wine.

They returned their focus to the movie.

"Why'd you do it?" Nicole asked. Simon pressed his lips to hers heatedly in answer. Nicole smiled as he pulled away. "Expel it to me again."

Suddenly they'd both realized how close they were, Erik and Christine. It seemed she had slowly moved during the film, leaning towards him. She moved back to her original position and Erik set himself a little further down the couch to allow her more space.

The film ended and Erik looked over to see Christine drifting out and falling over. He reached out, catching her as she jumped back up briefly and closed her eyes once again.

Erik scooped her from the couch, peeling her from her blanket. She felt so small in his arms. So small and vulnerable. Christine was aware that he was taking her somewhere, but she was too tired to rouse herself. Despite his chilling touch, she was comfortable. He set her down in the room he had shown her when he gave her a tour of his home, placing her on top of the bed and peeling the covers back to cover her with them.

It was then that she managed to open her eyes, looking up to Erik as his voice calmed her. "It's fine," he whispered. "You're safe. Just sleep."

She relaxed against the pillows, looking at him through heavy eyelids. She swallowed to clear her throat. "Thank you." Her words almost slurred. Whether it was from the need to sleep or the wine or both, Erik was unsure. The fact she even managed to thank him warmed his heart nonetheless and he tucked her in, leaving the room with a small click of the door closing.


	12. Sunday

Christine woke up feeling as if she had been in a dream. The covers over top of her were plush and warm and the mattress below was the perfect combination of soft and hard. She'd never felt so comfortable. Oh, if she could just lay here for the rest of eternity she would be just fine.

She sprang up. This was not her bed. These were not the walls of her apartment. No, she had not been dreaming. She recalled the final moments before she had fallen asleep entirely. An angel's voice calling to her, soothing her of any worry.

 _It's fine. You're safe. Just sleep._

And, oh, did she feel fine and safe. But she could not stay. She propped herself up, looking to the left and found that her phone had been plugged into the wall. Did she do that? She couldn't remember.

Christine reached over, pressing the home button to find a screen overran with texts and calls from Meg as well as a few texts from Raoul.

Raoul. She had a lunch scheduled with him, how could she forget! What time was it anyway?

10:00. Okay. That's alright. She only had to be there at 12:30 in the afternoon. She should still get a move on, though. Just so she can get back to her apartment and ready herself.

Christine rose from the bed and found that her bag had been laid at the end of it. Did she do that as well? Christine unplugged her phone, realizing the charger was not hers and left the room after making the bed.

Erik was in the kitchen cooking an omelette when his doe-eyed angel walked in. Yes, he decided to call her that now. _His angel_. It seemed befitting.

"I've got to go, Erik," she spoke softly from the archway.

"Do you not want any breakfast?" He had intended the omelette be for her.

She shook her head. "I've got to go. I have lunch with a friend and I want to get back home to get ready."

"Oh." Erik's face appeared to drop in disappointment.

Christine walked forward, hugging Erik around the neck. She placed a small, friendly kiss on the cheek of his mask. Oh, why did she have to kiss him there? Why not his other cheek where he could feel her lips?

He looked at her as she retracted. "Thank you," she said offering him a small smile. "I'll see you later this evening?" He nodded.

"Alright," she said, walking back towards the archway. "Bye."

"Bye," he replied, turning the burner of his stove top off while setting his pan to the side. He walked to the window after she had closed the door behind her and watched as she pulled out of his driveway.

* * *

When Christine entered the restaurant, Raoul was already waiting on a bench in the front entrance.

He rose as she appeared through the doors. Long curly hair, deep brown eyes, lovely floral print dress. Everything he remembered her to be: beautiful, a personification of innocence and purity. He had missed her.

Raoul appeared just as entirely the same—short blond hair, tanned skin, nice tailored suit—he'd grown some scruff, making him appear much older than he'd seemed without it. No longer a boy, but a man.

"Hey," he said, smiling with the same eyes he had when he first knew he was in love with her.

"Hey," she responded, smiling back shyly.

They took their seats and he ordered for her as he always would.

"What have you been up to lately?" he asked.

"Just the same old. Ballet, work. I've started working in a restaurant. I'm also singing in the local choir."

"Really? It's been a while since I've heard you sing."

"It's been a while since you've heard me at all."

He set his glass down, embarrassed by his own doing. "I'm sorry, Christine. I was wrong. I've missed you so dearly, my life just hasn't been the same. Do you forgive me?"

She did not reply.

He sighed in frustration, wanting her to understand. "Christine, I was at a very bad moment in my life. Our family business was going into bankruptcy."

Her voice softened. "Raoul, I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "It's all fine. It's no excuse for my behavior, really. But, I just wished you were there more often to support me." She looked down at her lap, feeling guilty now for being so selfish. "It wasn't until recently that we got the business back up and running."

She looked up. "So everything's fine now?"

"Yes, for the most part. We still have to figure out some logistics."

"That's great, Raoul."

They continued on, eating and reminiscing on shared memories; joking and laughing comfortably. It was as if nothing had changed.

Raoul covered the bill and escorted Christine out. "Would you like to go catch a play later this evening?" he asked. "I've got several tickets to see _Romeo and Juliet_."

Christine frowned. "I cannot. I have to meet with a friend to practice for choir. We have a concert coming up."

He sighed. "We'll catch a play another time then. I'll see you."

"Bye," she said, offering him a small smile as she headed to her car.

* * *

Erik and Christine rehearsed her solo over and over, perfecting every little note and dynamic as much as possible.

"How many people do you think will show to the concert?" Christine asked as Erik circled a key change within his music.

He looked to her with a raised brow. "If I were to make an estimate, it'd just make you all the more nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Christine insisted.

He chuckled and set his pencil down. "You say that, but is it true?"

She frowned and scrunched her face at him, trying to think of something clever to say back.

"Do not scrunch your face like that, dear. Wouldn't want to ruin something so precious."

She sensed mockery in his tone and gritted her teeth.

"Shall we continue?" Erik asked, gesturing towards the music.

"I'd much rather take a break," she said, standing from the bench.

Erik straightened his jacket and stood. "I have just the idea. Come."

Christine followed him to the main entrance of his house where he handed her her coat and grabbed his own. She looked at him, confused by what he was doing.

"Are we going outside?" she asked.

"Yes. To my garden out back." He led her to his back door, opening it to reveal a backyard filled with bushes dead from the cold of the winter. They stepped out into the cold winter air. "I want to see if you can navigate my maze."

She raised a brow towards him. "Maze?"

He nodded. "My maze of rose bushes. If you can navigate it in three minutes, I'll give you a gift."

She squinted at him. He wanted to play a game?

Erik led her to the maze's entrance. "Count to ten once I enter. I'll be waiting for you at the end." Then he walked in and disappeared behind a corner. She did as he told her to and walked through the entrance, making the same turn he had.

Three minutes. Surely this maze could not be that big, right?

Time passed and Christine found herself stuck. Every turn seemed to be a dead end. Had she already passed by that bush? How long had she been in here? Was she anywhere close to the end?

Christine made another hurried turn and a cold hand grabbed her from behind, pulling her towards its owner.

"Not quite the one for mazes, are you?" Erik's voice unfurled like silk from a spool.

She didn't know why, but she felt herself suddenly afraid. Maybe it was the fact she was trapped. Maybe it was his disappointed tone of voice. She wasn't quite sure. She whipped around to look at him. His eyes were deep and she couldn't read them, but there was something there.

"Maybe if I give you directions from the beginning and you navigate it within a minute. Do you think that would be more fair?"

She nodded. Erik led her back to the entrance.

"Remember," he said. "First right, second left, first left..." he continued on and Christine repeated every direction he gave in her head. "Got it?" She nodded. "Count to ten."

Erik returned back into the maze and Christine began counting, ending at ten and entering the maze.

First right, alright...second left. Christine continued on, remembering every direction he had given until she exited the maze, finding Erik sitting on one of four stone benches that surrounded an small, empty fountain turned off for the winter.

He held something in his left hand and checked his wrist watch on the other. He looked up, finding Christine approaching. He smiled and stood. "An excellent memory as I expected."

He met her halfway and held the thing in his hand up for her viewing. "Your gift."

She took it, observing its decor. An angel stood in the center of it on a platform holding a violin in one hand and pulling a bow across the strings in another.

Erik reached underneath the gift and turned something, resulting in a series of small clicks. He retracted his hand and allowed it to play. A small tune of Mozart's twinkled from the box as the angel on top spun slowly around.

After the little tune ended, Christine looked up to Erik with glossed eyes and tears hanging on for dear life.

"I love it."


	13. Insecurities

_"I love it."_

Those three words rung over in his head. She loved it! She loved his gift! And she loved him? Oh, he prayed she loved him.

A cool breeze blew at them, pushing cold air through her curls. She shivered and he noticed as her smile faded suddenly.

"Come," he said, wrapping his arm around her to spin her back towards the maze. "Let's get in back inside before we freeze."

She sat in front of his fireplace, twisting the key to hear that sweet melody play over and over again. Erik stoked the fire for her and left, giving her one last glance to admire her child-like eyes mesmerized by his gift. Still there was that sadness he always noticed within her. It pained him seeing her that way. Maybe it was a permanent feature? No. No one could look so sad without truly being so.

When he returned to her, he was carrying two large mugs of hot cocoa piled with a generous swirl of whipped cream. Christine smiled and set the music box down as he handed her a mug and sat beside her.

"You know," Christine laughed, "we never really do what we intend to do at these practice sessions of ours."

Erik laughed as well. "I like it, though," he said. "It's a nice change of routine for me."

She nodded. "I agree." She sipped her hot cocoa and watched the fire.

Erik stood to pull a blanket from the couch, heading back to her and tossing it over her shoulders. She smiled, tugging it on further as he sat back beside her.

"So," Erik began, "how was lunch with your friend today?"

Christine sighed. "My ex has returned and wants me back." Erik stiffened. "I don't know what to do. I miss him very much, but it's all so...complicated."

"Were you the one to break up with him?"

Christine shook her head. "He broke up with me last year."

"Then he doesn't deserve to have you back."

She looked up to him, seeing the sternness in his face. "Why not?"

"A man who does not want you all the time does not deserve you."

"Sometimes people just need a break. He was just frustrated with work and needed a break." She repeated this to herself, trying to convince herself that what Raoul had told her was true and there was nothing more. He was overwhelmed, that was all.

"If someone were _truly_ in love with you, they would not let work or any other frustration get in the way," Erik argued. "A man who loves you would love you all the time. Nothing would stand in his way of that."

Christine's breathing heaved. "What do you know about love?" Her voice was harsh, her eyes hard.

Erik stared at her, stung by her ignorance. Did she not see it in his eyes? Did she not see how painful it was keeping himself off of her? How his fingers twitched for hers? How his lips longed for her forehead, her cheeks, her mouth?

Christine set her mug to the side. She stared into his eyes as if challenging him, but he did not move or speak.

"If what you say is true," she began, trying to maintain herself despite the rage burning through her, "then you will not allow _this_ to stand in your way."

With a sudden stroke of her hand, his mask was pulled from his face and he was exposed to the world for judgement. Her eyes widened while they shifted from the malformed side of his lip that extended upwards to his hollowed cheek, ending at the side of his forehead which appeared to lack in skin and bone structure. She'd imagined he was deformed, but not like this.

He gasped and stood, pulling a broad hand to his face. Christine rose and took a few steps back as he cried out in agony. He turned to her, taking long strides towards her as she stood frozen, unsure of how to react. He removed his hand from his face and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist. She squirmed, trying to get loose, but his grip on her was solid and secure.

Hot breath assaulted her face. "Is this what you wanted, Christine?" he questioned with a voice she didn't recognize. "Is this what you expected?! Hoped for?!" She jumped as he yelled at her.

Reaching down, he took one of her wrists, holding it tight as she struggled against his hand. He held her palm against the right side of his face, forcing her to feel his twisted flesh. He closed his eyes, trying to enjoy the feeling of her hand on his skin. The pleasurable sigh he emitted made her shudder in revulsion, then she realized in was not a sigh of pleasure. He was sobbing.

He released her, shoving her away. "Go!" he yelled.

She did not move. She did not want to leave, not while he was in this state. She wanted so badly to stay and help calm his nerves, but every second more only made it worse.

He swallowed, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Leave me!" he yelled louder.

Christine did as he asked, afraid of what would happen if she did not. She grabbed her purse and coat, booking it out the front door. She fumbled with her keys, sliding them into the ignition and took off as soon as she shifted into reverse.

Erik watched from the window, waiting for her headlights to disappear around the street's corner. He fell to his knees, holding his face in his hands as distorted sobs escaped his lips.

* * *

Christine did not spare Meg any details of her and Erik's practice session besides going over her solo. As she laid in bed, her mind replaying what had occurred, she rolled over to grab her phone and send an email.

 _Dear Maestro Gallet,_

 _I regret to inform you that I have come down with something recently and I will not be able to attend tomorrow's rehearsal._

 _My deepest apologies,_

 _Christine Daa_ é

She cried into her pillow. For the first time in a while it was not out of pity for herself. It was for Erik.

 _Poor Erik._ What pain did he know? Having a face like that, having to hide it. He could have everything he'd ever wanted if it weren't for that. He could be happy. It was no wonder why he kept to himself.

But what made her so different? What made him desire her company so often? _Why her?_


	14. Rose

Christine took the stage Sunday night with her fellow colleagues, dancing across a stage in a small theatre. She felt comfortable here. Their routine was practiced and perfected, ready for performance. It took her mind off of everything. There was no space for Raoul or Erik up here. Only space for dance.

"Christine," Raoul approached her after the performance bearing a bouquet of assorted flowers. "You were perfect. You looked so beautiful."

She smiled, kissed his cheek, and took the bouquet. "Thank you, Raoul. These are lovely."

He walked her out. As they approached her car, she noticed something strange. Someone had left something sitting on her hood. She realized what it was when they got closer.

She turned to Raoul, offering a smile that did not show the worry she felt underneath. "Thank you for coming," she said. "I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome," he replied.

Christine leaned in and gave him a small hug. As she pulled away she could see a pang of rejection in his eyes, desiring more than a hug. She could not give him one, though. Not when she knew someone else might have been watching. She maintained her smile and walked off, leaving him behind.

Christine removed the music box from the hood of the car, finding a note taped underneath.

 _I'm sorry._

She looked back, seeing that Raoul was watching her as he walked off. Christine entered her car and switched on the ignition. She shook off the cold and sighed as she shifted her car into reverse and headed back to Paris.

* * *

Erik had been sitting in front of the fire for only a few minutes when he heard a knock at his front door. He stood and made his way to the door, waiting for another knock. He was sure it had just been his imagination the first time.

 _Ding dong_

No. There was most definitely someone there behind that door. He was not imagining things.

Erik twisted the spiraled handle, opening the door to a pale, chestnut-haired Christine. He did not react. He had not expected her to come; he had not expected her forgiveness. He was sure she was gone for good.

She walked through the doorway and took the door's handle from his hand, closing it shut behind her and locking it as he always would. She turned and found Erik on his knees, eyes engulfed in tears. Two shaking, outstretched hands reached towards her slowly. She took the hands as he began collapsing forward.

"Erik!" she yelled, stepping forward to catch him.

She knelt down to hold him in her arms, feeling his weight beneath her fingertips as he trembled against her. "Christine," he wailed, "you came back."

Oh, Erik. He could so easily allow himself to fall so far as to doubt her love. "How could I not?"

"I scared you, Christine. I-I'm sorry."

"It's fine, Erik," she whispered, rubbing his back.

He pulled away from her embrace to look into her eyes, bringing a shaking hand to her cheek. "My angel of music," he breathed and closed his eyes once again, retracting his hand.

Christine leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his bare cheek. He shuddered. Oh, so this was how it felt. Soft lips bittersweet against his perfect cheek. What did it mean?

She pulled away, gazing into his eyes ashamedly. "It's all my fault, Erik. If only I hadn't removed your mask."

He swallowed and shook his head in disagreement. "It is not your fault, my dear Christine." He held his hand to his chest accusingly. " _I_ did not have to react in such a manner. I..." he dropped his head in shame, "I have no idea what got to me."

Christine watched his eyes, seeing that he was beating himself up on the inside.

"Maybe years of being on your lonesome, having to hide yourself from the world. Maybe that's what go to you," she reasoned.

He looked back to her. "Brilliant angel. You know me more than I know myself."

She hugged him one last time and pulled away to stand. "I have to go, Erik. I'll see you tomorrow evening?"

"Stay," Erik pleaded. "You can sleep in any bed, I'll cook whatever you'd like for breakfast."

She smiled gently. "I have work in the morning. I must be up early."

"Then," he murmured, trying to think of another way to prolong her stay. "Let me show you the pastries I baked for you."

"What?" she asked.

Erik stood, steadying himself with one hand as he pushed himself off the floor. "I-I wasn't sure if the note and returning your gift would be enough. I thought..." he stopped speaking. Why tell her? It was foolish of him to think delivering gifts to her would convince her to come back to him. But had it not worked? Still...it was an act of making her pity him. How could he allow himself to be so selfish? He changed his route. "I thought maybe you'd at least come back to rehearsals."

"Erik, I was afraid you wouldn't want me back. I didn't come to rehearsals just because I thought it might be too much for you to bare."

"Oh, Christine," he rasped, eyes glossy. "Your presence makes me happy." She felt her heart throb. She made him happy just by simply being there? "I was afraid you didn't want to see me and that's why you hadn't come."

She shook her head, eyes flooding with tears. "No, no. I just...I just don't want to upset you as I had."

He chuckled slightly. "You can never upset me to the point where I'd no longer want you in my life."

A small smile formed on her lips. He took her hand. "Come on," he said, "They should be cool enough for icing."

She watched from the center island as he rolled up his shirt sleeves so that they were just below his elbows, and picked up a piping bag filled with red icing.

"Oh!" he said in realization. "I might need the pastries."

Christine laughed as he set the bag back down and pulled a tray of puff pastries from his refrigerator. He set them on the center island for her to see.

"Now," he said, picking up the piping bag once more. He continued speaking:

 _Si ta fraîcheur parfois nous étonne tant,_  
 _heureuse rose,_  
 _c'est qu'en toi-même, en dedans,_  
 _pétale contre pétale, tu te reposes._

Christine smiled, watching as his hands pressed the tip of the piping bag lightly against the top of the pastry. He slowly pulled up, squeezing and twirling the bag at the same time, making a rose on top. She leaned over to get a better view and he held his hand out to signal her to wait. He set the piping bag down and picked up another filled with green icing.

 _Ensemble tout éveillé, dont le milieu_  
 _dort, pendant qu'innombrables se touchent_  
 _les tendresses de ce coeur silencieux_  
 _qui aboutissent à l'extrême bouche._

She watched as he positioned the tip below the flower, squeezing and pulling out. He repeated the motion once more on the other side, creating two leafs.

"Voilà," he said, setting the piping bag down.

Christine smiled, leaning over for a better view. "That's so lovely, Erik."

He picked up the pastry with his forefinger and thumb, dropping it into her open palm.

"I cannot eat this," she said. "It is much too pretty."

Erik smiled and she bit into it gently, the perfect flakiness obvious in the small bit of crunch that sounded as her teeth cut through to the soft center. A small bit of icing stuck to her nose as she pulled away. Erik chuckled, turning to retrieve a paper towel. She admired the small pastry in her hand, not realizing she had gotten icing on her nose and that Erik had joined her on her side of the island. He gently swiped the icing from her nose, bringing her mind back to reality.

She turned, looking to him as she finished chewing her bite and swallowed. "This is delicious, Erik. Thank you."

He grinned, swiping once more to get rid of the final piece of evidence that she had been eating something sweet.

"Thank you," she whispered, turning to regard her pastry once more.

Erik threw the paper towel away and returned to the other side of the island.

"You're going to finish all of those?" she asked, swallowing another bite of her pastry.

"I plan on it," he said, nodding.

"May I help?"

He nodded, happy now that she was willingly prolonging her stay. Whether she realized it or not, he did not care. All that mattered was that she was still there.

She finished her pastry and joined him on the other side of the island. He picked up the bag of red icing, demonstrating how to create the center of the rose by holding the bag there and squeezing, then moving around in a circle to make the surrounding petals.

"Got it?" he asked, handing the bag over.

"I think so," she replied diffidently. She tried as he showed her, however she squeezed a bit too much in the center and her circle was weak and uneven. She frowned as she pulled away.

Erik smiled. "It's fine. Here," he said, moving behind her. He moved his arms around her, placing his hands over hers on the piping bag, and lifting it to the next pastry. He demonstrated just the right amount of pressure, leading her hands around. "Got it?" he asked once more, not removing his gentle hold.

"I-I think I need to be shown one more time," Christine spoke softly.

"Okay," he replied, reflecting the softness in her voice with his own. He realized how close he was to her, his chest slightly leaning against her back. It made his heart beat faster. He just prayed she couldn't hear the pulse or feel it against her. They moved together to the next pastry. He showed her once more, leading her around.

"Alright. I think I've got it," she said. He released his hands from hers and moved to grab the bag of green icing.

"Will you show me that one as well?" she asked, looking to him with eyes so sweet he was surprised his heart did not burst then and there.

"Sure." He demonstrated one for her on a pastry they'd done, how to squeeze and pull. "As simple as that," he said, admiring his work with a small smile. He handed the bag to her and stepped away.

She placed the tip exactly as he'd shown her to between the rose and pastry. She looked back to him, eyes still sweet, "can you help me?"

He smiled slightly, moving forward to place his hand over hers on the bag. "Like this," he whispered, squeezing down and pulling back. He turned the pastry with his free hand, moving his arm beneath the space between her other arm and her body. He heard as her breath caught slightly and she stiffened. Maybe this was much too intimate; maybe this is not what she wanted, but he wanted it. Then it occurred to him as he pulled away and gave her freedom to do the next on her own, as she turned to ask with the sweetest voice to have existed "one more?", that maybe she too wanted this.

Erik helped her once more; his hand on hers once more, his arm brushing against her once more, his chest pressing lightly against her back once more. She smiled, thanking him, and did one on her own. Erik took up the reigns on creating the rose petals with the other bag, moving quickly so she had more pastries to do. They were about halfway through when her phone rang. She set her piping bag to the side and pulled her phone from her front pocket.

"Hey, Meg," she answered. Erik continued piping, listening in on their conversation. "Oh gosh, sorry. I didn't see the time. I had to make a stop. Yeah, everything is alright. No, you don't have to call for a search party," she laughed. "Alright, I'll be back on the road. Thanks. Bye." She hung up, slipping her phone back into her pocket.

"Gotta go?" Erik asked, still piping, but slower now.

"Yeah," she said, wearily.

"I'll deliver these to you tomorrow, then."

She smiled, walking towards him. He watched and stopped piping as she placed her hand on his shoulder and pushed herself up onto her toes to place a peck onto his unmasked cheek. He stood there frozen. _Twice_ tonight she had kissed him. _Twice!_

"See you tomorrow," she said, offering a small smile.

Christine headed out to her car, turning as she heard his front door open. "Drive safe!" he yelled, standing in his doorway.

"Thank you!" she yelled back, turning with a smile.

He watched as she backed out of his driveway, remaining in the doorway, allowing the cold in.

"I love you," he whispered as she backed her car onto the street, shifting into drive and pulling off.

* * *

 _A/N: The poem Erik recites is called "Roses" by Rainer Maria Rilke. There is an excellent translation by David Need out there for us English speakers, if anyone is intrigued. As I've heard, it's much more beautiful in French (not a surprise). Just thought it'd add something._


	15. Concert

Christine's dress arrived the day before, just in time for her first concert. The square neck dipped low enough to expose her locket. She wasn't sure if it was an acceptable piece of jewelry for a concert, but Raoul agreed that it wasn't distracting, so she kept it on. They rode to the venue together, Christine driving since she was familiar with directions.

Christine joined the choir, warming up and going over a few songs before they took the floor.

Maestro Gallet introduced himself and the choir. The venue didn't allow for too large of an audience, but it was packed nonetheless. Christine focused on the music as she performed her solo after the intermission. Erik's piano accompaniment enraptured her in a warm glow, bringing out her best notes. It felt as if he were speaking to her through the instrument.

The concert ended and guests began to disperse. Erik stood from the piano and looked towards Christine. She kept her place, wanting him to approach first, when a voice drew from in front of her.

"Christine, you were amazing!"

Christine turned to find Raoul standing there bearing a bouquet of flowers he'd ran off and purchased for her before the concert began. She smiled and took them. "Thank you, Raoul."

"I cannot believe-"

She stopped listening to him, looking towards Erik as his head dropped and he gathered his music, leaving outside through the side door and down the path to the garden out back.

"Christine," Raoul's voice came back into focus.

"Huh?" She looked back towards him.

He laughed slightly. "Were you listening to a single thing I said?"

"I'm sorry, Raoul," she apologized. "I've got to go talk to someone. Will you take these to my car?" She handed the bouquet to Raoul.

"Sure," he said, taken off guard.

She turned and left to catch up with Erik, walking after him quickly and leaving Raoul standing in bewilderment.

When she made it to the garden, Erik was nowhere in sight. It was already dark. Maybe he had left.

"Looking for someone?" a familiar voice called to her.

She turned, finding Erik sitting behind her in the shadows on a bench in front of a curve of lifeless bushes. He stood and approached her, tucking the left side of her hair behind her ear with a gentle swipe of his finger.

"You did excellent. As always," he remarked.

"Your playing was beautiful," she replied softly.

He stared at her for a second, not speaking. "You're beautiful," he said finally. She did not reply, blushing red and holding her head down so he could not see.

"Come home with me, Christine." She looked at him in confusion. "I can take care of you, cook you dinner, give you any bed you'd like to sleep in for the night."

"Erik," she pleaded with him.

"You belong there, Christine," he begged. "Please."

"Erik, I cannot keep on spending the night with you. Meg was scared the last time I did not return."

Erik nodded understandingly. "Was that your ex you were talking with?"

"Yes, that was him."

Erik drew in a shuddering breath of air. "Are you two together now?"

Christine sighed. "He's still trying."

"I can give you so much more than he can." She found his expression agreeing with his words as she looked at him. How could he say such a thing? Believe such a thing? What within this man compelled him to speak against her relationship with Raoul?

A cold wind blew between them, making Christine shiver. Erik pulled his coat up to shield her from the continuous assault until the breeze settled. "Thank you," she whispered, avoiding further eye contact with him.

He dropped the side of his coat. "Go home, Christine. It's getting cold out. I'd hate to see you freeze."

She turned to leave, giving him one last glance as she walked up the steps.

Erik did not move, only watched as she walked away, hoping she would run back to him. She did not, however. She left as he told her to, walking out of his eyes once more.

* * *

Erik was getting ready for bed when he heard his doorbell ring. He leapt up and placed his mask back on along with a mandarin robe he kept hanging by his bedroom door. The bell rang once more as he approached his front door. He looked out the peephole and his eyes widened. He opened the door to a shivering Christine. She looked at him, teeth chattering.

She spoke, "Aren't you going to invite me in? I thought you said you'd hate to see me freeze."

Erik reached out, pulling her in from the cold. He closed the door behind her, locking it tight and turned.

She met his gaze briefly and turned away. "I thought you might like some company." She gathered the courage to look at him, eyes posing the question: _will you allow me to stay?_

Erik stepped towards her, grabbing her hand, and led her down a hall.

"Where are we going?"

"There's one room I haven't shown you yet."

They walked to the end of the hall and he opened a door to a dark room. He pulled her in with him and closed the door.

"Erik?" Christine's voice displayed her anxiety. "Erik, I can't see anything."

Then the walls lit up, lights twinkling like those at Christmastime. She looked around her, seeing the garden of flowers that covered the walls. She turned, looking to Erik. "What is this room?"

He smiled at her expression of awe. "I call it my flower room." She raised her brow, questioning its existence. "I just thought that when the winter comes I might sometimes like to appreciate a garden, even if they're fake." He looked to her. "Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful," she admitted. He smiled, watching as she looked around. She walked to one wall and reached out to a single rose, feeling its silk petals with the pad of her thumb.

Christine turned back towards Erik. "Where'd you get that?" she asked, approaching him. Her fingers pressed lightly against his chest, running over one of the golden embroidered dragons. Her eyes admired the flowers printed in the silk of the fabric, providing a nice contrast against the otherwise blackness of the robe.

"Imported from China," he answered. His breathing shallowed as he tried controlling his heart rate. She was so close now and she was here by her own choosing. Oh, he was driving himself mad having to hold back. It would be so easy to reach out and grab her, pull her into his arms, and barrage her with words of love and praise.

"It's lovely."

 _You're lovely,_ he thought.

"I'm tired," she said, looking at him through heavy eyelids. He turned the lights off and walked her back to the door, her arm wrapped around his. He allowed her to twine her fingers through his and cut himself off mid-gasp as he tried catching his breath for his swelling heart. He pulled her into the hall and closed the door back.

"Any room is your room tonight," he said.

She let go of his hand and arm, turning to him with a weary smile. "Thank you." She placed a small kiss upon his cheek, making the butterflies in his stomach burst out of their cocoons. He felt his heart thump in his chest as he watched her leave for the same room she had occupied before.


	16. Expiation

Christine had not told Erik. She meant to, but she just couldn't find the courage within her.

After her lunch with Raoul that one Sunday afternoon they'd reunited, she had decided to take him back. They went out a few times a week when she didn't have to work, dining and dancing together. Raoul said that he was in love with her and she forgave him with a kiss.

Things had somewhat been back to normal except for when Erik was around. Christine just found herself floating towards him and she couldn't keep herself from behaving so oddly when he was around. At least oddly in Raoul's terms, that is.

"Who were you talking to?" Raoul asked, waiting at the top of the garden steps for her.

"You were listening?" she asked, trying to catch her breath from having been startled by his sudden presence.

"Christine, I cannot help but think that there is someone else in your life."

Christine kissed his cheek, wiping away his doubts of her love. "There is no one else. Only you."

He turned. "Let's go back to the car."

She followed him and he opened her door for her, shutting it once she was in all the way.

They returned to her apartment where Raoul tugged her along into her bedroom, closing the door and locking it behind them.

Christine set the bouquet he'd given her on her dresser and Raoul rushed in, pressing his lips against hers. She groaned and he pulled away growling.

Christine laid down over the bed in nothing but her underwear, allowing Raoul to touch and kiss her skin. She thought this is what she wanted, but the pool of burning desire that had set her insides aflame was now quickly fading. It wasn't Raoul's doing, she realized. Why hadn't she just accepted that?

His loving hand ran down, down, down above her abdomen, fingertips sliding slowly underneath her waistband. She realized she couldn't do it anymore. Christine sprang up, swatting Raoul's hand from its path and into the air. "No!" she yelled suddenly, surprising herself by her own urgency to break away and stop everything.

He looked over at her in shock, eyes wide like saucers. "What's wrong, Christine?"

She pulled her legs up to her chest, avoiding eye contact out of shame and embarrassment. "I cannot do this, Raoul."

Raoul let out a heavy sigh of frustration.

Every touch and graze of him on her so far that night had only brought Erik's face and name to her did not want to disappoint Raoul, but at the same time she was realizing it was not Raoul that she needed.

"We've been in this position before several times. When will you be ready for me, Christine?"

She looked to him, not speaking. Impatient Raoul. He was so unwilling to wait for her. Before, she would have waited centuries for him. Now? She was not so enthusiastic about being with him. Her love and desire for him had faded over the year he'd been gone, replaced by somebody new. She thought it was back when he had returned, but it did not return with him. Something that had once made her heart thump for him was now missing. Nothing was the same.

Raoul stood, fed up with her silence. "I'm not doing this right now." He dressed himself and left in a storming rage.

Christine felt as if some weight had lifted off her shoulders. He was gone, but there was still something there. There was still something she needed to take care of.

Yes, there was something that burned inside Christine when she was with Raoul. But that burn was not of passionate love and desire. It was of guilt and longing.

* * *

"Good morning," Christine spoke softly, entering the kitchen with wild hair that she had attempted to smooth down with her own hands. Erik had not realized the night before, but she came wearing her pajamas.

Erik smiled, flipping over a pancake. "Good morning."

"What shall we do today?" she asked, yawning and taking her seat at the dining table.

He looked at her with surprise. Did she truly want to spend her day with him?

"Would you be interested in going to church with me? I think I'm actually in the mood today."

Erik nodded. "Sure." He did not care where they went. As long as it were with her, he would be happy.

Christine left to her car to retrieve a night bag she had thrown together before she left for his house. She wasn't entirely sure if he would allow her to stay overnight given the fact she had rejected his request for her presence after the concert, but she decided to throw something together just in case.

"Can I take a shower?" she asked from the entryway to the kitchen.

Erik nodded and took the pan off its burner to show her a bathroom with a shower down the hall her bedroom had been on.

"Thanks," she said, shooting him a grateful smile before entering and shutting the door behind her.

They sat together at the dining table, each still in their pajamas, speaking very little to one another. Erik watched as Christine's hair dripped onto her shirt, leaving small paths of water behind as they trickled down.

"I'm sorry," she said suddenly, staring down at her pancake with eyes filled by regret, her fork playing with it as if she'd lost her appetite.

His brows furrowed. "Sorry for what?"

She swallowed a bite of her pancake, eyes still refusing to meet his. "For not coming back to your home with you immediately after the concert."

He shook his head. Why would she apologize for such a thing? It was impulsive of him having ever asked for her presence when he knew she had other company.

"And," she continued, her voice weaker than before, "for lying to you."

Erik's head cocked in confusion. "Lying about what?"

She inhaled, closing her eyes so that she could not catch his reaction. "I told you that Raoul and I were not together, but that was not true." His jaw tightened. She awaited his response and was answered only with the sound of a fork clinking against his plate and the sliding of wood on the tile floor. Slowly, she opened her eyes and found him faced away, walking towards the door to his study.

His hand smacked hard against the wood of the door, forcing it open violently. She watched and waited for the door to fall back in its initial position. She stood quietly from her chair, setting her fork back against her plate, and walked to the door, opening it with a gentle push.

The curtains were drawn, blocking much of the sunlight. Erik stood hunched over his desk in the center of the room, his hands outstretched to either side of the desk, fingers sprawled out to provide balance. He pushed himself off, turning his back against her once more, and sat on the edge of the desk furthest from her.

Christine approached cautiously, aware of his state of being. The same pang of heartache she had felt when Raoul had called their relationship off, the same pang she felt as her father whispered his final words to her: "I will send you an angel of music and he will guide you." She understood and now she was beginning to feel that same heartache. If she could heal that wound. If she could heal _all_ of Erik's wounds...

"Angel of music," she spoke softly, as sweetly as she could.

Erik's body went rigid. He pulled his face from his hands. "Say that again," he murmured.

"Angel of music," she repeated, stopping a foot away from the desk, unsure.

He turned, facing her. One side of his face, she could tell, was soaked. The other, she reasoned, was just the same underneath the mask. She approached once again now after seeing the softness of his eyes. Only his head moved, tracking her as she stood in front of him. Her hand lifted to the right side of his face, fingers curving with the cheek of his mask. A small whimper escaped his throat in protest, but he did not move. Christine did not allow it to keep her from continuing on in her endeavors, however. She pulled the mask, slowly lifting it from his face.

Erik looked down, not wanting to watch as her expression contorted with revulsion at the sight of him. But her face did not scrunch as he had imagined. She stepped towards him, her stomach touching the jut of his knee, and leaned forward. Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him close. Oh, how he could die in those arms. Die right here, right now, and it would be bittersweet; but surely it would be a better ending than he deserved.

He snaked his arms around her, pulling her closer. "You are much too sweet. I cannot keep myself from you," he whispered. He began sobbing once more, his subsequent words choked out by his tears. "Oh, how I _wish_ I could have you."

Christine broke away from his embrace despite his feeble arms working in opposition. "But you can have me," she said. "I broke it off with Raoul. I couldn't stop thinking about you every time he was around."

Erik took her face between each of his hands, his eyes wide. "Please tell me this is true, angel."

She nodded. "Yes, Erik. It is true."

He pulled her close, trying to feel that she was real. "Oh, Christine," he rasped.

Those heartbroken words choked her with tears. _Oh, Erik,_ is all she could think, rubbing his back soothingly with her fingertips.

The grandfather clock in the corner chimed nine times. Her eyes widened. "We're going to be late."

* * *

Erik felt out of place everywhere he went, it did not matter. But church? Church was a whole different story. He followed Christine like a timid child does a mother, only offering a small smile and eye contact with those she talked to.

"Who's this young man?" an elderly woman spoke, turning as they sat in the pews behind her.

Christine smiled. "Hey, Mrs. Gardner."

She smiled at Christine. "Hello, Christine. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Christine turned pink. "Yes, it has."

"How have you been?"

"I've been pretty good, actually," Christine responded with a small sigh.

"Not a day passes by that I don't worry about you, Miss Daaé." Christine's smile turned sad. The woman noticed and changed the route of conversation. "Are you going to introduce me to this man?" she asked, looking towards Erik.

Christine smiled. "Oh, yes." She'd nearly forgotten he was there. "This is Erik."

Mrs. Gardner smiled. "Nice to meet you, Erik."

Erik met Mrs. Gardner's eyes with his own. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Gardner," he responded, forcing a friendly smile upon his face.

Her wrinkled lips curled even more at the sound of his response. She looked back to Christine. "If you have a girl, will you name her Valerie after me?"

Christine responded with a laugh and Erik's eyes widened as he stopped his breathing.

"Sure," she responded, cheeks red with embarrassment. Erik looked at her, eyes wide with surprise that she would even respond to such a question. She shrugged at him, trying to hold herself back from further laughter.

"So," Christine said as Erik drove them back to his house, "what did you think about church?"

Erik shrugged. "I'm not much of a religious man. I've hardly stepped foot inside of a church."

"That's alright," Christine said. "I haven't been going so much lately. I usually only go when I'm happy."

He realized it then: she was happy. Happy with him?

"When's the last time you attended service regularly?" he asked.

"Before my dad fell ill."

Erik nodded. A silence drew out between them.

"Well," he said, "I can change. We can visit church every Sunday together, if it makes you happy."

She looked at him facing towards the road, but it was obvious his eyes were somewhere else. "You don't have to change for me, Erik. I like you just the way you are."

His Adam's apple rolled as he swallowed. She liked him. She said that, right? That she liked him?

"I like you just the way you are too, Christine."

She smiled, leaning forward to kiss his masked cheek.

His breath shuddered as he exhaled. Oh, how he wished he had a perfect face so he could feel those lips right now.

* * *

Christine had Erik play a few songs for her on the piano after lunch.

"Can you sing and play?" she asked. She always reveled in the way his voice enraptured her when he spoke. Surely it would be just as lovely if he sung.

"Ah," Erik said, discomforted by her asking. "I can sing, but I don't really sing for others."

She grabbed his sleeve, pulling him like a child does their parent in a toy store. "Please, Erik? I'll sing along with you if you'd like."

He studied her desperate expression for a moment. Anything if she were to sing. "What would you like to sing?"

She smiled wide, releasing his sleeve while she thought. "How about Hallelujah by Cohen?"

He nodded and set his fingers over the keys, pressing down to play the opening notes. They sang together, his voice rich and warm against her's sweet and light.

"Oh, Erik," she could've cried. "Your voice is wonderful."

He stared at her lips. She waited, hoping he would close in on them, but his eyes shifted to hers. "You danced wonderfully at your ballet recital."

Her eyes widened. "Did you actually stay and watch?"

He nodded. "I wouldn't have missed it for anything in the world."

She dropped her eyes, ashamed by what had happened.

"I'll teach you," she said, standing.

"Teach me what?" he asked, a brow raised.

"How to dance."

He smiled and shook his head. "I cannot."

"Oh, come on," she insisted. "You'll have fun."

He squinted at her, contemplating whether or not he should accept her offer. She reached out her hand. "Now or never," she said, giving him no choice.

He stood, walking to a far corner where a record player and a small shelf of records sat.

"What would you like to dance to?" He asked, flipping through a stack.

"Anything that you think would be good."

He pulled an album from the stack. _Cole Porter's Can-Can_ , he showed Christine. "The second to final song on this is lovely." He set it on the record player, lifting and setting the needle where a song began winding up.

 _You do something to me,_ Louis Jourdan's voice crooned.

As he turned, Christine closed in and took his hands in hers. Erik followed her lead, holding onto her as she led him around the room.

"Now," she said, "you wrap your arms around my waist and hold me as I lean." He did as she asked. "Good," she said, smiling and lifting back up.

They danced until the record ended, Erik enjoying every second he got to hold and lift her. It felt so right having her there.

* * *

Before dinner, Erik allowed Christine to stop by her apartment to change. Meg entered with another man as he was sitting on the couch, waiting for Christine to finish getting ready. He stood to properly greet them. Meg was just as Christine described: golden blonde, alabaster skin, short yet spunky. The man was tall, but failed to reach Erik's height by a few inches.

"Hey," she said, smiling slightly, "you're Erik, correct?"

Erik smiled. "Yes." He extended his hand to shake hers. "And you're Meg?"

"Yes," she laughed. "It's nice to finally meet you. Christine has talked a lot about you."

"Really?" he said half-surprised.

She nodded and looked to the man beside her. "Oh," she said to Erik, "this is my boyfriend Thomas."

He smiled and extended his hand, shaking Thomas'. "Nice to meet you."

The man nodded. "You as well."

They sat and talked about ballet and Christine while they waited for her to come out. She appeared from the hallway, heels clicking as they contacted the floor. Erik stood, stopping mid sentence as she entered the living room in a long, sparkling, dark purple to pink gradient dress that slit at the knee. She tugged on a gray faux fur coat to keep herself warm. If Meg weren't there, Erik was sure he would've lost himself. The emotion of that desire to drop to his knees and proclaim his love must've shown in his eyes considering Christine's bashful smile.

She continued approaching him. "Are you ready to go?" She asked.

He snapped out of his trance. "Yes."

They turned, Erik taking her arm, and Christine looked at Meg for the first time in that moment. She said absolutely nothing, but her face read of surprise.

"It was nice meeting you, Meg and Thomas," Erik spoke. "I'll bring her back whole, no worries."

Meg watched as they walked to the door, Erik allowing Christine to step through first and close the door behind.

* * *

Dinner was as splendid as it could be. Erik was no less romantic in his endeavors as he had always been, always wanting the best for Christine.

They arrived back at Christine's apartment afterwards. "Thank you so much," she said, not wanting to leave the car. "You really didn't have to do all of that for me."

Erik shook his head in disagreement. "You deserve the world, Christine. If I were to deny you that, I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

A small, sad smile played out on her face and she leaned forward to hug him. He hugged her back, moving his hands towards the small of her back, his fingers losing themselves in the fur of her coat as he tried feeling her form underneath.

She broke away and moved to the handle. "Wait!" Erik exclaimed. She turned back from the handle, happy to stay in the car a little longer. Erik reached in his pocket, pulling out a silver key attached on a key chain with a small wooden boat.

"In case you need somewhere to go," he said, handing the key over to her.

"Erik," she gasped with love as she observed the small boat.

"My home is always open," he said.

She looked up to him and leaned forward, pressing her lips to his bare cheek. "Goodnight, Erik," she said with a small smile.

She left the car, walking towards the entrance to the apartments. Erik brought his hand to his cheek in an attempt to capture the fading warmth her lips had brought to his skin.

"Goodnight, Christine."


	17. Company

Erik found Christine in his library, her index finger flipping a page over as her eyes scanned the words from a book he had recently purchased and left out. _Scandinavian Folk Fairy Tales,_ the title read. Her smile, although genuine and nostalgic, also had a sort of sad quality to it. He approached her and she looked up from the book, setting it aside.

"I see you're enjoying my book." His voice startled her and she sat up, meeting his gaze.

"Yes," she smiled. "So many stories my father used to tell me."

Erik smiled. "Which is your favorite?"

"Oh," Christine said, looking over the page she was on. "It's actually not in here."

"It's not?" Erik frowned.

"Well, there are a few good ones. I always enjoyed the stories of trolls and giants, but my favorite story was always the one about Little Lotte."

Erik cocked his head. "Little Lotte?"

Christine nodded. "I'll bring my book to you some day. I think I still have it tucked away in a box somewhere."

Erik watched as she set the book to the side and stood.

"Winter is ending," he said. "Soon enough I can show you my garden."

"But I've already seen your garden."

"In the winter. You've yet to see it bloom."

She exhaled with a small puff of air. "Are you going to make me navigate your maze again?"

He chuckled. "No."

They went downstairs and Erik put on a movie. Christine slipped her shoes off and waited for Erik to join her on the sofa before she pulled a large blanket over herself and him.

"Thomas proposed," Christine said.

Erik tried thinking. Thomas… Thomas. Where had he heard that name?

"Meg said yes," she continued.

Ah, yes! Thomas was Meg's boyfriend. "That's good," Erik replied.

Erik noticed Christine's body beginning to tremble. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"They're moving in May," she sobbed.

He furrowed his brows. What about that fact made her so upset? Was she not happy for Meg?

"I'm going to be all alone."

Erik's hand ran his fingers through her hair soothingly. "No," he crooned. "You've got me. You'll never be alone."

His words did not soothe her. Yes, she had him, but he was not Meg. Meg was the last of what she had of her childhood. The final person who remained in her life that shared memories of long summer nights staring up at the sky, whispering secrets to one another in the dark, dreaming of their futures together.

"Best friends forever," she recalled herself saying to Meg.

"Never shall we part," Meg retorted.

Christine had been spending the past year trying to throw everything behind, forget how nice and simple everything used to be, but truly she did not want to. She did not want to move on from that final slip of what once was.

Erik laid down and Christine's body fell with his. She watched as her tears soaked his tie until she could no longer hold her eyelids open. He pulled her hair from her cheek, his fingers grazing her neck lovingly as they passed over. Christine held onto him as if he would float away if she did not.

They laid there, each of them drifting off with only the intro of movie serving as a lullaby.

* * *

"Christine."

"Papa?" she called back.

"Christine, I am over here."

She turned. The ocean met the shore and receded back, foam standing in its place before the tide came rolling back in. Her father stood at the edge smiling, violin tucked beneath his arm.

"Papa!" she yelled, running to him with open arms. They collided. She pulled away, eyes glossed over with tears. "Why'd you leave me?" Her lower lip quivered.

"I did not leave you," he replied.

She shook her head. "No, you were gone. You left!"

He tutted. "Always so blind. Just like your mother." He paused, watching her eyes. "Did you get my angel?"

She looked at him in question. "Your angel?"

"The one I sent you."

Christine smiled, nodding her head vigorously. "Yes, I got your angel."

"I see. He's been good to you, yes?"

"Very much so."

Her father's expression darkened suddenly. He went stiff, all emotion leaving his eyes. He seemed to be looking right through her.

"What's wrong, papa?" she asked. Christine turned her head, looking behind her to see what he was looking at. All that stood behind her were the dunes. She turned back. He was gone.

"Papa?" she called out, searching for him frantically, running into the ocean. She spun around. The beach was empty all except for her and the surge of the sea.

"Christine," he spoke once more, sternly, concern etching out his voice.

She woke, her eyelids flying open wide. Erik smiled, his fingertips lightly dragged through her hair

"It's getting late. Would you like to have supper?"

She sat up, not entirely recovered from her dream, biting back her desire to cry, and stood. "I must get going," she said. "I have work in the morning."

Erik grabbed her wrist with a firmness she had never felt from him. "Christine, I do not feel okay with allowing you to drive home tonight."

She blinked at his hand around her wrist, then at him. Her eyes still felt heavy. "I'm afraid I'll risk being late," she argued.

"I'd rather you risk your work reputation than risk your own life."

"I feel fine," she insisted.

"You just woke up and you're emotionally drained."

Christine swallowed. He was right. She hated that he was right.

"Besides," he continued, "I think we could both appreciate each other's company."

Erik released his grip on her as he stood. "Now what are you in the mood for?"

They ended up ordering Chinese takeout. "I cannot believe you talked me into this," Erik said as they entered the house, each of their arms full of groceries.

"You've really never had Chinese takeout before?"

"I try to poison myself as little as possible."

Christine rolled her eyes. "You've been missing out on one of the finest pleasures of modern living, Erik."

He squinted at her in challenge. "I doubt that."

Christine helped him put his groceries away and they sat down to a feast of Westernized Chinese food: lo mein, orange chicken, fried shrimp, white rice. She watched Erik, incapable of holding back a smile from invading her face as he took his first bite. He chewed, looking at his plate then to her.

"I hate you," he said.

She burst into laughter. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head at her child-like behavior. Christine stood, walking to her purse. She opened it and pulled out a DVD in a generic plastic casing. "And tonight," she announced, "we'll be watching this."

She sat, pushing the disc across the table for him to see. _The Titanic_.

Erik threw his head back and yelled out as if he'd been struck. He looked to her. "Really?" he derided.

"Yes, really. You're watching it with me tonight. And we will be eating popcorn."

Erik acted as if he were going to die. "I shouldn't have allowed you to wander off in the grocery store without me."

Christine shrugged, her brow raising and lowering with a certain smugness as she pulled a spoonful of rice into her mouth.

Christine stayed in the kitchen, keeping her eyes on the microwave, and sent Erik to get the movie started. She joined him, the remote in his hand as he waited for her to sit down. He lifted the blanket for her to join him, watching her with judging eyes as she popped a single kernel of popcorn into her mouth.

"What?" she asked, noticing his expression.

"So cliche," he remarked, shaking his head.

She rolled her eyes. "What is with you and all the nitpicking tonight?"

"I just enjoy watching the cute little faces you make when you're upset."

She looked at him, her nose scrunched up, and her lips held tight together in an attempt to repress a blush.

"Like that one," he said smiling with amusement.

She threw a few kernels of popcorn at him and moved, separating herself further from him.

"Hey," he whined, moving over to reestablish the small gap between them once again.

"Can we just watch the movie?" she grumbled.

Erik wrapped his arm around and pulled her closer. "Yes."

Christine gave him a sidelong glance before focusing back on the movie, her hand dipping back into the bag of popcorn.

"Are you not going to share?" Erik teased.

She sighed, reaching into the bag and pulling out with a single kernel.

"Thank you," he said, reaching to pluck it from her fingers.

"Ah!" She retracted her hand. His eyes looked to hers, watching as she gazed at his mouth. Her hand brought the single kernel to his lips and he opened for her, accepting the outstretch of her fingers releasing it onto his tongue. He bit down, closing his mouth before tossing the crushed kernel to the back of his throat and swallowing. Christine smiled.

"You're so easy to please, aren't you?" he asked.

She peered at him. "Hardly."

Erik's hand dipped into the bag without her notice, the papery shuffle of the kernels making her realize he had moved. She pulled the bag back defensively.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, holding a single kernel between his thumb and forefinger for her to see.

She slumped in defeat, her lips pressing together taut. He brought the kernel towards her now, repeating her same actions, but as she opened her mouth, he retracted his hand and tossed the single kernel in his own mouth. Her expression dropped back. He smiled, swallowing the kernel.

Christine peered at him, a shred of disdain in her eyes. "Deceitful boy," she muttered.

"Foolish girl," he retorted, his eyes impish.

She realized how close they were; their knees touching, breaths intertwining in a small pocket of air. He noticed she was focusing in on his lips, inching closer and closer every second. He froze, not sure what to do. Oh, how he'd dreamt of kissing those lips. And now they were so close and so willing.

The chime of Christine's phone made her jump, breaking out of her spell. She stood, pulling her phone from her front pocket. "It's Meg."

"Hello?" she answered. "Yeah, I'm at Erik's. Yeah I've got work tomorrow. No, I'm fine." She laughed. "Alright, see you later. Bye.

Christine joined Erik back on the couch. Whatever transpired between them was gone now. Erik wished it would have resumed, but Christine was much too embarrassed to continue and he was too afraid to take on the responsibility.

To his surprise, he actually enjoyed the movie. He did not want to show it, however. He would win this round. Christine didn't search his face to see if he was enjoying it, though. She was too busy allowing herself to give over to the call of sleep to notice the way his breath was shallow at every intimate scene.

Erik turned at the sound of a light snore escaping her mouth and Christine's soft body hitting his arm. He sighed, admiring the sight of her falling asleep against him, and shifted, throwing the blanket off of her. She woke as he lifted her from the couch and carried her to the room she favored. Realizing he was taking her there, she allowed herself to fall back to sleep. He admired her image in the bed as he always did. Surely if an angel were to fall from heaven that is what she looked like: curls all about, soft face absent of worry. Comfortable, safe.

He kissed her forehead, humming a gentle lullaby as he tucked her in and left the room.

* * *

 _A/N: Ah! Coming up towards the end of this, I'm realizing how much editing I need to do. Tell me what you think. Thanks for reading, as always!_


	18. Drive

One of the largest events of the year for the choir was now here. Christine took four days off from work so she could spend some time touring Nice. Erik planned his trip so that it aligned with hers: same hotel, same check-in day, same check-out day. Anything to spend more time with her.

She agreed to carpooling with him. Nine hours in a car alone seemed most undesirable and he had offered.

The first two hours were spent listening to music, singing and laughing.

Christine's hand pulled out the small collection of CD's in the passenger door.

"A lot of classics," Christine mumbled, shifting through the stack. "Classic movies, classic music... what kind of man are you?" she teased.

Erik shrugged, eyes focused on the road. "A classic man?"

Christine laughed at his answer and shoved a CD into the slot of his stereo system. Erik immediately recognized the opening track's bass line.

"If you sing the main part, I'll accompany you and we can stop wherever you'd like for lunch," Erik said.

Christine smirked. "Enticing." She took him up on his offer.

 _And your shoes get so hot, you wish your tired feet were fireproof_

 _Under the boardwalk, down by the sea, yeah_

 _On a blanket with my baby is where I'll be_

Erik joined in on the chorus.

 _Under the boardwalk_

 _Out of the sun_

 _Under the boardwalk_

 _We'll be having some fun_

Christine stopped as the second verse began. "What's that instrument called? You know, the one making that wooden sound? Sometimes it looks like a frog and someone runs the stick down the back to make it croak."

Erik chuckled. "It's called a guiro."

"A guiro?"

"Yes, that. It's a Latin American percussive instrument. It usually doesn't look like a frog. More like a vase."

Christine nodded. "I like it. It adds something to this song."

Erik sighed. "It seems like not too many bands these days know how great an orchestra can sound in their music. Or real instruments in general."

"Times have changed."

Erik frowned. "They certainly have."

Christine laughed. "You act as if you were alive back then."

He shrugged. "Maybe I was."

"So you're telling me that you believe in reincarnation?" she asked, intrigued.

"Who knows? The universe acts in mysterious ways."

"Well," she said, shifting herself to get into more comfortable position in her seat, "that would explain why you're so obsessed with all of this stuff." She played with the sleeve of her shirt, thinking to herself. "I wonder what I was in a past life."

After a stop for gas, Christine decided to lay down and nap. She told Erik to wake her when he got tired, but even as he felt his hands go numb from the rumble of the road, he refused to disturb her sleep.

They stopped twice to use the bathroom and once to grab lunch. Erik teased that they wouldn't stop where she wanted to stop because she didn't finish singing the song, but they settled for a comfortable chain restaurant, splitting a sandwich and a tartelette. It was dark by the time they arrived at their hotel.

"Which floor?" Christine asked as they entered the elevator.

"The fourth," Erik replied.

Christine hit the numbers 4 and 5. "What room?" she asked.

"Four-fifteen."

She nodded. The elevator reached the fourth floor, the doors opening with a _ding_.

"See you at breakfast?" he asked, glancing to her as he lifted his luggage.

"Yes," she replied.

Christine found it overwhelming being in a hotel room alone. She knew nothing of traveling outside of being with her father on tour. From the drabbest to the most elegant hotel rooms, her father's music could turn sketchy back alleys into chapels. She'd never been alone her entire life, everywhere she went someone was with her. Her father, Raoul, Meg. There was always someone there. But now, in this small and quiet hotel room, she was finding herself back in that dark space of mind: _no one loves me. No one is here for me. I am alone to fight my own demons and no one will dare to step in and walk by my side._

She couldn't take it. She had to be with someone. Someone who would comfort her.

* * *

Erik had just about fallen asleep when a light knock sounded at his door, pulling him out of his declining state of consciousness.

He stood, shuffling to the door with a small feeling of agitation and pulled it open. Christine stood outside in the hall in her usual nighttime ensemble of a short-sleeved graphic t-shirt and pajama pants. Her eyes were slightly puffy and reddened.

"What's wrong, Christine?" he asked. Something had obviously upset her.

"May I spend the night with you?" she asked, avoiding his question.

He swallowed. How could he deny those brown eyes? "Sure," he replied, stepping over to allow her in.

Christine sat on the edge of the bed, watching as he walked to the other side of the bed to pull a pillow and take to the couch. "Do you plan on sleeping there?" she asked.

He plopped himself down, fluffing his pillow. "I do."

"There's enough room for both of us," she gestured to the bed.

Erik shook his head. "I do not want to discomfort you."

"You won't discomfort me," she reassured him.

Erik sighed and stood reluctantly, joining her on the opposite side of the bed. She moved underneath the covers and he fluffed his pillow once more, lying himself down. They each kept a respectable space between one another, enough room for another person in the center.

"Goodnight, Erik," Christine said, facing him in case she woke in the middle of the night and needed a reminder that she was not alone.

"Goodnight, Christine," he replied, facing towards the ceiling.

* * *

Erik woke in the middle of the night finding that Christine had moved in her sleep. One of her knees nudged up against the side of his leg, her arm crossing so that her hand fell onto the center of his chest, her head nestled by his arm. She was so close, so comfortable, so warm. He couldn't help himself, reaching out to stroke her hair with the smallest of movement.

Her eyelids opened slowly, lifting as she looked to him. She had not realized she moved in the middle of the night, but she didn't want to move now. This was comfortable.

He stopped the movement of his hand as she met his eyes in the pale of the moonlight. She sighed, closed her eyes back, and nestled her head closer to him, moving her hand so that it had a better hold on him.

Erik caught himself in the beginning of a sharp intake of air, stopping himself before he could startle her. He sighed quietly and continued to stroke her hair gently. Christine nuzzled her cheek further into his side, showing approval. His heart practically melted experiencing her presence like this. If he knew it were possible, he would never let her go.

"Erik?" she said, her voice like honey to his ears.

"Yes, Christine?" he replied, not stopping his strokes.

There was a beat of silence as she tried to form her words. "Thank you."

He turned his head, looking down to her. "For what?"

"For everything. Informing me about the choir, helping me improve my singing, being kind to me, giving me a bed."

Erik smiled. "You're worth it."

Her fingers twitched on his chest and moved to fiddle with a button on his pajama shirt. "Yesterday marked a year since my father has been gone."

Erik stopped his stroking. "I'm sorry, Christine. If I could take away all that pain you feel, I would." He slowly returned his fingers to her hair. "Oh, how I wish I could."

"I would never wish that on you, Erik."

"I know you wouldn't. You're too good."

She was silent for a few seconds. "I wish he could've met you. He would've liked you."

The idea of her father approving him being in her life warmed Erik's heart. "I wish I could've met him as well."

She looked up to him, eyes teary. "You know," she said, "every night after you had visited me at work and invited me to join the choir I couldn't stop asking myself 'why me? What does this man see in me?'"

He sighed, looking up towards the ceiling with a smile. "Christine, you have no idea how powerful your voice can be. When you sing, I feel like I'm in Heaven."

Christine smiled, laying her cheek back against his side. "Goodnight, Angel."

Hearing her call him that brought warmth to his cheeks and a smile to his lips. "Goodnight."


	19. Tourists

Christine woke to the brush of Erik's fingers pushing hair from her face and behind her ear. She had forgotten what it was like waking up in another's presence like this: so warm, so right.

"Good morning," he spoke, his voice curling around her, sending warmth throughout her body.

She smiled, looking up to him. "Good morning."

Some thought passed behind his eyes and he sat up, gently pushing her off of him to turn and look at the clock on his night stand. "It's too late to take advantage of the free breakfast," he said, "But if we get ready now we may be able to get some brunch." He turned back to her. "You said you wanted to tour Nice, correct?"

Christine nodded. "Correct."

"There's a lot we can see. Let's get going."

They met down in the lobby. Christine stepped off the elevator wearing a cream colored maxi dress with floral print and sandals comfortable enough for walking in all day.

"You look lovely," Erik said as she approached.

Christine laughed, trying to repress a small blush. "And you look overdressed."

He wore a gray suit with a white handkerchief tucked in his breast pocket. The only thing missing from his regular ensemble was a tie.

"This is a casual suit," he said defensively.

She squinted at him. "Is any suit truly casual?"

He rolled his eyes. "Let's go before I have to lecture you."

Christine took his hand in hers. "I'm teasing you, Erik. You look handsome." She kissed his cheek, forcing him to swallow back his desire to pull her into the elevator.

They stopped at a small bistro, taking advantage of the lovely spring weather by sitting outside and watching as cars and people passed by.

"So," Erik began, stirring his coffee to cool it, "Where did you want to go for the day?"

Christine hummed in thought, trying to recall the small list of places she'd wanted to see. "I was hoping to visit the Castle of Nice and the Modern Art Museum. I also wanted to do some shopping at the Cours Saleya."

"Sounds like we've got quite an eventful day ahead of us."

She smiled. "I tried to leave some room in case you wanted to add anything in."

Erik chuckled. "What you've planned sounds like enough."

"Are you sure? There is so much to see."

"I'm sure I'll lose track of time being with you and we'll spend plenty of time in each place you want to be that we won't even realize how much time has passed until the sun is setting."

Christine smiled, blushing at his comment. Erik paid for the meal and they left for the castle.

"They say it is well worth the climb," Christine recalled her little bit of research on the must-visit places of Nice as they began walking up the steps of Castle Hill.

Erik laughed. "We shall see."

He looked at her, seeing how brightly her eyes were shining, how genuine her smile was. All these past couple of months he'd been with her she seemed so far and distant, her eyes lost and smile false. But now here she was before him: a little bounce in her step, a little bounce to her hair. She was always beautiful, but even more so in this moment.

"But I'm sure anything is well worth it, if it is for you," he added, the words rolling out of him without his consent. Erik was usually regretful of his ability to be so impulsive sometimes, but as she turned to him, cheeks pink with color, there was no ounce of regret within him.

They reached the top overlooking the sea and town below. Christine was right. It was well worth the climb.

"Look!" Christine exclaimed, pointing towards the town with one hand and tugging on the sleeve of Erik's coat with another. "There's our hotel."

Erik squinted, looking in the direction of her finger. He spotted the pink building with the black roof in the distance. "Yes, yes it is."

She walked to the railing, looking out over the water and sighing with pleasure. She could certainly get used to this. Erik joined her side. "This view is splendid," she remarked, turning to Erik for agreement. Instead, she found him looking at her.

He blinked and shook his head, breaking himself out of his trance. "I'm sorry, what?"

She chuckled and took his hand before looking back over the ocean. Erik closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing before returning his gaze forcefully to the view over the the railing. Christine tightened her grip on his hand ever so slightly and she turned to regard him once more.

"This would be much more romantic if there wasn't such a large crowd of people," she whispered so that she did not offend anybody nearby.

Erik's laugh was nonchalant despite his anxiety that she wanted him to take charge of the situation. "We will find some place more secluded later," he promised.

They left for the Museum of Modern Art and walked around for a few hours trading theories behind the meanings of certain installations. Erik sat down on a bench to get off his feet. Christine sat down as well, sighing heavily.

"We're going to be in so much pain tomorrow," Christine laughed.

Erik sighed. "Hopefully not. We've got such a busy day ahead of us."

Christine sighed and laid down, setting her head upon his lap and curling her legs up so they'd fit along the opposite end. Erik brushed her hair from her neck and leaned back against the wall. He could certainly live like this everyday. Just him and Christine in a life of leisure. They sat for a few minutes, eventually getting back up to leave for the Cours Saleya.

The marketplace was quite busy just as any other place they had been. Christine took a liking to the different soaps they offered while Erik walked off to the jewelry section. He roamed over the vast selection of necklaces and narrowed it down to two, picking them up to examine them side-by-side.

"Ah, yes. You've taken a liking to the grasshopper and the scorpion?" An older, hunched man spoke, approaching Erik from behind the display. "Same designer, same price. All unique." He tapped the price tag on the display to make sure Erik was aware of it.

Erik was not concerned with money. "I'm just trying to decide which one I like more."

The man laughed. "Take your time."

Erik sighed, making his decision and setting his reject back where it was displayed. "I'll take this one."

He walked over, leaving the jewelry portion of the market, and found Christine admiring a bundle of dainty, pinkish flowers. A woman approached her, asking if she'd like some help. Christine shook her head, smiling, and walked away.

"Madam," Erik said, approaching the woman before she could walk off to another potential customer. "May I get these in a mixed bouquet?"

Christine sat at the bench they had decided was their meeting spot after the market in case they were to separate. Erik appeared from out of the crowd holding a bundle of flowers wrapped in tissue paper and a silk bow. She stood and watched as his arm extended to hand the bouquet off to her.

"Sunflowers and twinflowers?" she said, smiling. She looked up to him, eyes twinkling. "Thank you, Erik. This is so sweet." She took the flowers from him and tilted herself upwards to kiss his cheek.

"That's what they're called?" he asked, trying to ignore how her kiss made him burn. "Twinflowers?"

She smiled, nodding. "They are my country's native flower."

"I've never seen them before."

"It's been quite some time since I have. I was surprised to see them here." She looked to Erik, raising her brow. "You weren't watching me, were you?"

"Only for a moment," he answered truthfully.

She giggled and took his hand in her empty one. "Let's go grab dinner."

They sat outside, watching as the sun dangled in the western sky, picking at what remained of their plates and laughing about the day's events.

"You know," Erik said, "I think I might just have an idea of what you were in a past lifetime."

Christine raised her brow, interested. "What then?"

"Well, obviously a dancer of some sort considering your love for dance." She nodded. That was a possibility. "And maybe my wife."

Christine looked at him, blushing. "Your wife?"

"Someone I loved, at the least."

She returned her gaze to her plate, smiling. "That seems plausible."

"You just seem so familiar, Christine. You know how odd that is? To have just met someone and feel like you've known them forever?"

She looked to him. He was serious about this whole reincarnation thing. Or maybe he was just serious about loving her?

Christine reached across the table, placing her hand on top of his. He watched their hands as they sat like that for a second before turning his hand over and lifting hers, pulling her knuckle to his lips.

They walked back to their hotel, hand-in-hand, a comfortable silence growing between them as their minds raced with thoughts.

"I enjoyed our time together today," Christine spoke finally.

Erik smiled. "I as well."

"My feet hurt," she said, trying to think of more things to spark a conversation.

"Want me to carry you?"

She laughed, but when she turned to him she found that he was being most genuine.

"No, I'm sure your feet hurt as well," she replied.

Christine fell silent. Their hands swung slightly as they walked.

"You should move your room to mine tonight. You'll save money," Erik said. "Besides, I want you there."

Christine stopped walking and he stopped as well. She looked to him, not speaking.

"Is everything alright?" he asked.

"Why haven't you kissed me?"

He blinked, unsure how to respond. How could he put it into words how afraid he was to initiate something? How much he ached to touch, but was so afraid anything he'd do would result in him losing her?

"I've wanted to," he responded. "I just wanted it to be perfect. For the both of us."

She stepped closer to him, her lips merely inches away. "Nothing is perfect in music," she said. He recalled one of their first genuine conversations. It was odd hearing his words being thrown back at him, but he liked it.

"When you're around me," she continued, "I hear music. Like, it's all around you in every word you say and every thing you do." His fingers twitched on hers. "I think maybe we are music," Christine said. "And I would never care for us to be perfect."

He pulled her flush, eyes roaming over her one last time before he dipped down and caught her lips with his own. His lips were hard at first, but softened after they departed and met hers several times over.

He broke away, wanting to see her eyes, hoping they were just as in love as his. "So beautiful," he remarked, his fingertips lingering lightly at the notch of her neck, sending shivers down throughout her body.

"Let's go get my room changed over," she said, kissing him one more time before they continued walking.

Erik helped Christine with her bag as they left her room. She used his bathroom to change into her pajamas and brush her teeth before joining him in bed. He gently brushed his forefinger along the underside of her jaw, content with her being there.

"Will you hold me tonight?" he asked, retracting his finger.

"If you wish," Christine replied, eyes heavy with love and exhaustion.

He nuzzled his head against her and she turned, pulling his ear to her breast. He listened as her heart beat beneath him, reveling in every _lub-dub._ He imagined it was all for him just as his beat for her. She lifted his head and he sat up a bit, thinking she was trying to fix herself into a more comfortable position. Instead, she removed his mask from his face.

"You don't need this," she said, setting it aside.

He laid back down as she settled, pressing his ear back so he could hear her heart once more.

The combination of exhaustion from the day and her fingers raking through his hair sent him into a deep sleep, Christine following not too far behind.


	20. Spring

Christine woke to the sound of the room door opening. Erik was already dressed, entering and carrying a packaged blueberry muffin in his hand.

"You missed breakfast," he said. "I tried waking you, but you kept mumbling and pulling the covers back over yourself."

She sat up and he joined her on the edge of the bed, handing her the little bit of breakfast he managed to bring back to the room. "Thank you," she said, opening the muffin's wrapper.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked.

She nodded. "Did you?"

"Never better."

Christine smiled at the thought of him being comfortable in her embrace, having never slept so well on his own. Erik leaned over, kissed her forehead, and stood.

"Would you like me to iron your dress for you?" he asked, opening the small closet nearby to pull her choir dress out.

"Sure," she said, swallowing a final bite of her muffin.

As he got the iron board set up, she left to the bathroom to shower. After drying her hair, she retrieved her dress from Erik and returned to the bathroom. She stepped out of her pajamas and pulled the dress over her head, reaching behind to pull the zipper up. A third of the way done and the zipper stopped. Christine tugged, trying to continue, but it wouldn't budge. She pulled it back down, hoping that would fix the problem, and pulled back up. Again, it choked. Christine huffed with indignation and grabbed her locket from the sink's counter, exiting the bathroom.

"Will you help me with this?" She asked, turning and holding the back of her dress together so she was less exposed.

Erik stood from his chair and crossed to her. "Ah," he said, seeing the problem. He replaced her hand at the top, holding the dress close. "Stubborn zipper," he mumbled. He dragged the zipper down and pushed his thumb at the area of conflict, smoothing back a fold of fabric that stood in the way. He then had to release his other hand to hold the fold, exposing her upper back as he zipped her dress.

"There," he said, finishing with the eye hook at the top.

"And this," Christine said, handing him the locket. She lifted her hair as he brought one hand around her and the other to meet it, gently laying the locket on top of her chest and clasping it in the back.

"Done."

* * *

With spring in full swing, the venue for their performance couldn't have been any more picturesque. Flowers bloomed all around, providing a lovely backdrop for an outdoor concert. The audience sat at circular tables, sipping on their wine while they conversed about the weather and politics.

The choir took to the stands and Erik to his piano. The only thing that disturbed their performance was a gentle breeze and the nearby chirping of birds. Maestro Gallet had rearranged their repertoire so that Christine would end them with her solo. Erik was more than pleased to hear of this change one night after rehearsal when Maestro approached him to admit Erik was right about what he'd said of Christine.

"I've noticed a significant improvement," Maestro noted, his eyes flicking to Christine as she conversed with another member of the choir.

Erik smiled, happy to hear that his maestro was now beginning to see what he had all along. "She's wonderful isn't she?"

Maestro chuckled at the boyish look in Erik's eyes, the way they sparkled whenever Christine sang. "You've truly been struck by cupid's arrow."

Everything went well at their concert in the garden and everyone performed to their best potential, giving the audience a splendid second performance for the day.

Maestro thanked the audience for their continuous support of the arts, wishing them a great rest of the day while they enjoyed the gardens and wine.

The choir began to disperse and Christine turned, meeting Erik's gaze. She didn't get but three steps in towards him when she was cut off by a man's voice. "Miss Daae," the voice called, closing in on her side. She stopped, turning to greet whoever was approaching her.

A tall, older man professionally dressed extended his hand for hers. She accepted it, shaking his hand. "Fabrice Canton," he introduced himself, releasing her hand. "You have the most amazing voice."

She smiled. "Thank you, monsieur." She shot a glance at Erik. He made a figure with his hands, mouthing something she could not make out.

"Listen, Miss Daae, I wanted to ask you if maybe you'd like to sing at my wedding. I've finally found the love of my life and I want us to have the best reception possible. I thought maybe you'd be a wonderful addition. I'd ask for the whole choir, but I'm afraid I cannot afford such a thing."

Christine smiled cheerfully, nodding. "I would love to, sir."

"May I get your e-mail or some way in which I can contact you?" Christine wrote her information on a napkin for the man and turned to see if Erik was still around, but he had left.

She went inside, sure he would be in the building, but she did not see him. Christine walked up to an employee at the bar. Surely someone would have noticed him. He stood out quite easily even amongst a crowd of people.

"Have you seen a tall man wearing a half mask?" she asked.

The look of puzzlement on the woman's face was enough of an answer. "No, madame, I have not."

Christine left back out to the gardens. She walked around, through small bunches of people until she made her way to a gazebo. All around, red roses climbed to the top and over the roof through the fence-like frame. She entered, finding Erik seated on a granite bench, holding a single rose between finger and thumb while he cut the thorns away with a pair of fingernail clippers. He looked up to her and stood, approaching her with the rose, and slipping his clippers into his pocket. She allowed him to tuck a side of her hair behind her ear.

"You were amazing," he said, sliding the stem of the rose behind her ear so that the petals nestled beside her face. She said nothing, only stared deep into his mismatched eyes while her mind raced. He turned, taking her hand, and walked her back to the bench, seating himself on one side while she took to the other.

"Is there something you wanted to talk about?" she asked.

He looked at her, swallowing. "You're so perfect, Christine. How can you be so perfect?"

She blushed. "I'm far from perfect."

"You're wrong."

She dropped her eyes to her hands in her lap. "I'm afraid I'll disappoint you, Erik."

He shook his head, taking one of her hands in his. "You can't ever disappoint me." She met his eyes, finding them soft and comforting. "Christine, all you ever do is amaze me." His thumb brushed against her palm lovingly. "You are so utterly desirable."

She shook her head. "You don't want me, Erik. No one wants me."

He watched as tears began forming in her eyes and she turned in embarrassment, retracting her hand. "Allow me to hold you, Christine." She did not reply, only sobbed as he folded her into his arms.

"It's okay," he consoled, pressing his lips to her forehead. "You're not alone."

* * *

Erik took her back to the hotel where he laid her into bed. Christine pulled at his sleeve, urging him to join her.

He did as she asked, removing the rose from her hair along with his mask and joining her in bed. He noticed the locket's chain around her neck, remembering that he'd helped her put it on her earlier. He pulled on it, lifting it until the small, circular locket appeared from beneath the neckline of her dress.

"What's this?" he asked.

She reached up, opening it for him to see each panel. He smiled. "Is this your family?"

"Me, my mother, my father, and a flower petal," she replied.

"You've always been so cute, haven't you?"

She blushed her response, watching his eyes as they observed the small panel with her in it, shifting to the one holding her mother.

"Did your mother sing as well?"

She shrugged. "My father said I had her voice, so maybe so. He didn't speak of her much, I think he was too heartbroken after she passed."

"I'm sorry."

She closed the locket back. "It's fine."

"Do you think you'll feel up to going back to the gardens later? We're supposed to have dinner there."

She sighed. "I guess I will."

"You don't have to know now. If you're not feeling up to it, I can bring you something back."

"I don't want you to leave me."

"We can order room service then."

"You don't have to do that. Besides, it's expensive."

"I cannot allow you to starve."

She squinted at him as if she were searching for something. "Why do you always feel the need to provide for me?"

He slowly exhaled a breath of air. "You deserve the best, Christine. I want to provide that for you."

Christine moved closer to him, wrapping her arm around his. "This is enough."

* * *

The chime of Erik's phone disrupted his and Christine's sleep. He dragged his phone out of his pocket, his eyes struggling to focus on the letters forming Maestro Gallet. He grunted, pressing the button to answer the call.

"Hello?" he answered, his voice laced with exhaustion.

"Are you coming, Erik?"

He looked towards Christine. She nodded sleepily. "Yes."

"Good. Do you happen to know where Christine is and if she is coming as well?"

"Yes, she's coming."

"Good. See you soon."

"See you," Erik said, hanging up. He grunted and rolled over, pulling his legs over the side of the bed as he stood. It was still light out, but the sun was far west in the sky.

Christine stretched herself and sat up. "Can you bring me my hair brush?"

Erik pulled her brush from the bathroom and gave it to her, watching her curls smooth and bounce back up as she pulled the bristles through the hair.

"You may want to comb yours as well," she said, lips twitching as if she were about to laugh.

He left for the bathroom, turning on the lights. His tousled hair was strewn all about. He found his comb and a bit of gel, mussing up his hair before pulling a comb through.

Christine came in pulling a few strands of hair from her hairbrush and throwing them into the trash before setting her brush back down on the sink's counter by her toothbrush. She wrapped her arms around his waist, lifting herself onto her toes so she could kiss the side of his neck behind his ear. Erik grinned, running his comb through his hair one last time and setting it on the sink.

She held his mask up for his taking and he noticed she had slipped the rose back into her hair as well. Erik slid the mask back on, fixing it so that it was straight. He looked at her in the mirror beside him, his eyes glimmering with his desire to pull her back to bed.

Christine tugged on his sleeve. "Let's go."

They sat together at one of the circular tables under the tent that had been set up outside for the nighttime dinner ceremony. Maestro Gallet approached them, arms as wide as his smile. "It's so great to see you both!" he said, rounding them so he could squeeze both their shoulders. "I thought you two were not going to show."

Erik chuckled, already wishing he would leave so he could enjoy more time alone with Christine. "We're always here for you, Maestro."

He sat down, pulling a chair beside Erik. "So," he said, clapping his hands together, "I can't help but notice you two constantly walking off together." Christine's face flushed. Was it wrong for two members of the choir to be together? "Are you two…" his voice dropped and his hands pointed at them each, switching back and forth in suggestion.

Erik grabbed Christine's hand, pulling it up. "We are," he said, happily. Christine smiled in confirmation.

Maestro bellowed with glee. "Adorable." He slapped his hand on the table, standing. "Well, I'm going to converse with some potential clients and enjoy the wine. I'll see you two later."

They both smiled, watching as he walked away.

"He's toasty, isn't he?" Christine asked, noting how loose Maestro appeared in contrast to his usual character.

"Very," Erik replied. He sighed, looking over the crowd of people dancing in the middle of the tent and turned to Christine. "Would you like to dance?"

She grinned. "Of course."

Erik stood, taking her hands, and led her to the center with everyone else. Christine wrapped her arms around his neck as he hugged her waist. There was nothing special about the dance, only a few side steps to slow music.

"You look beautiful," Erik said.

Christine laughed. "You keep saying that."

"I say it because it's true."

A bashful smile played out over her lips and she looked away, afraid her eyes would give away everything he was making her feel in that moment.

"Let's go outside," he said. "I'd like to get away from the crowd." She happily followed, taking his hand as he led her out. He walked her back to the gazebo where they sat, the pale of the moonlight being the only thing to provide them with any guidance and a view of one another.

They took their seat back on the marble bench. A chill wind blew and Christine shivered, grabbing her bare arms. Erik tugged off his coat, slinging it over her shoulders in one swift movement.

"Thank you," she said, tugging the sides close around her. "You should get one of these," Christine said, admiring the gazebo. "It'd look lovely in your garden. Maybe put it in the center of your maze? But then you'd have to clear it out."

"I like that idea," he replied. A silence grew between them. "You should move in with me, Christine."

She stilled. Living under his roof with him seemed most desirable, but at the same time it seemed so soon. "I plan on moving into a smaller apartment," she said.

"Still, Christine. I don't like the idea of you being alone."

She dropped her eyes to her knees, swallowing. She didn't like that idea either.

"Stay with me, Christine."

She shuffled her feet slightly, considering his proposal. But she needed something. She needed to know. "Do you love me, Erik?"

He smiled, exhaling a small breath of amusement. "Is it that obvious?"

She looked to him, a sternness in her eyes. "I need to hear the words."

He saw her expression and leaned forward, lowering his voice so that it was merely a whisper and only she could hear the truth. "I love you, Christine."

Her eyes softened and she shifted herself closer to him, her gaze flicking back and forth between his eyes and lips. He reached over, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"Forgive me," he said, leaning forward and pressing his lips against hers. Her eyes widened in surprise at how hungrily he pressed into her, then closed as she pressed back into him with an equal need. She lifted her arms out of his coat, running her fingers through the back of his head. His coat began falling from her shoulders when he reached behind her to hold it against her back and pull her closer. He broke away with a small, velvety pluck to meet her eyes.

He reached up to touch her cheek and check if she were actually there. Christine leaned forward once more, meeting his lips with a small, open-mouthed kiss. She pressed her forehead again his mask, hugging his neck.

Erik stroked her hair, his mind racing with a million thoughts, every one about her. "We should head back to the hotel," he suggested. She nodded in agreement.

They laid in the bed, each changed into their pajamas. Erik met Christine in the center of the bed, wrapping his arm around her back. He met her lips for what must've been the hundredth time that night, unable to keep himself from enjoying her.

"We've already talked about this," Christine said, pulling his mask off and placing her lips in a dip of flesh on his cheek.

He gasped with pleasure. "Why must you torture me, Christine?"

She set his mask on her nightstand and pulled him close to her, lowering her voice. "Because you're beautiful."

"Your words do not sway me," he lied.

She sighed in defeat. "Oh, how horrible," she spoke with sarcasm.

"You dare to defy my self loathing?"

"I do."

He leaned in and lowered his voice just as he had when he confessed his love to her. "Try your best, but you won't succeed."

Christine pushed her hand to the back of his head, running her fingers through his hair. She pressed her lips taut against his, forcing a groan from his throat. Oh, she was so incredibly sweet. She pulled away, his breath obviously quickened by her onslaught of love.

"I love you, Erik."

She was unaware of how her four words could mean so much to him. Tears began pooling in his eyes. "You've no idea how long I've wanted to hear someone say those words," he heaved. "And to hear them from you, Christine. Oh, what am I to do?"

She allowed him to rest his head underneath her arm as she lightly dragged nimble fingers around his head, gently twirling sections of his hair until his cries ceased and she fell asleep.

Erik stayed awake listening to the gentle breaths she exhaled. She made him feel safe. For the first time in his life he didn't feel alone. He had someone to hold at night, someone to comfort him, someone to love him. Christine was all he needed, all he desired. She was enough.


	21. Friends

Christine woke as Erik rose, shifting the weight of the bed. She sat up with a small groan and reached over to press the home button of her phone. 8:53.

"Do you plan on joining me for breakfast?" Erik's spoke, his words slightly slurred from sleep.

"Sure," Christine yawned and stood. Erik straightened his mask in the mirror as she brushed out her hair, throwing it into a bun.

They sat together in the dining hall, Christine's plate full of an assortment of fruits and processed scrambled eggs and Erik's two sausage links and a bagel.

"We've got to go back today," Christine grumbled unhappily.

Erik wasn't so enthusiastic about the fact either. "Yeah."

"Back to serving customers and scraping plates," she thought out loud, picking at a cube of cantaloupe on her plate.

Erik looked to her, seeing the dullness in her eyes. He hated seeing her this way, as if life held nothing for her. "I love you," he said, not necessarily thinking to say it, the words just slipping out of him.

She looked up, a spark appearing in her eyes. "I love you too."

* * *

Christine kept her eyes outside, watching the landscape transform before her as they traveled back to Paris. She'd occasionally look over at Erik as he was driving, wondering what was on his mind. She reached for his right hand, peeling it from the wheel and positioned her left hand over his, comparing their size from the bottom of the palm up. She noted the end of her forefinger barely reached the first joint on his and he threaded his fingers between hers, bringing her knuckle to his lips. She smiled and leaned against him over the console in the center.

"When will you move in?" he asked quietly.

"I'll start packing soon and move when Meg moves out," she replied with a small sigh.

Erik nodded. "Has she already married?"

"They've engaged, but she thought it'd be best to see if they were comfortable living together first."

"And what if they're not?"

She laughed. "I'm sure they'll be happy together. They've been dating for quite some time. I was wondering when he'd pop the question."

Erik thought, tapping his finger lightly on the steering wheel. "Do you think we'll be happy together?"

She grinned. "I'm already happy when I'm with you."

He exhaled a shaking breath of air, pulling her knuckle to his lips once more.

Erik helped Christine back into her apartment, carrying her bag for her. She opened the door finding Meg speaking with Raoul in front of the kitchen's center island.

"Christine," he said, turning with a smile and a bundle of petunias. His smile faltered when he realized Erik was there. "Who is this?" he asked, recognizing he was a man from her choir.

"Raoul, I thought you had left." That was the only thing she could think to say in that moment in which a bundle of feelings struck her: surprise, resentment, anguish. His presence took her off guard. She'd completely thought she was safe to be with Erik, her life once again absent of Raoul, but she realized she was wrong. Raoul was not finished with her.

"I came back to apologize."

Christine shook her head. "You have to stop doing this, Raoul. Find a girl who can be with you all the time, find someone who loves you as much as you love them."

A dark shadow passed over his face. She had chosen the wrong words. But could any words be right in this moment? Say one thing, she breaks Raoul's heart. Say another, it's Erik's. "You don't love me?" he asked in a breath.

Christine stepped forward in quick defense. "No, Raoul, it's not that. I do love you." Erik closed his eyes, trying to disregard her words. He knew she was not trying to hurt him. He knew she was just trying to comfort Raoul, to stop the pain. "It's just...I don't love you the way you want me too."

Raoul flared his nostrils. "Then what was everything for, Christine?" His voice reflected the hostility he felt on the inside. "The long nights I held you, the sweet kisses...what was it all for?"

"Raoul, please." She wanted him to stop. Stop speaking, stop being there, stop existing.

He choked the bouquet in his hand, his face going red. "Why didn't you just tell me you were fucking the pianist, Christine?"

Her eyes widened in horror, but a subsequent feeling of rage shot through her, replacing every desire within her at that moment to break down and cry. "You've changed, Raoul," she said, managing to speak calmly despite every nerve in her body being on end. "You know it's in the best interests of all of us if you'd just left."

"Christine," he rasped, begging for her to come back to him. But she was gone. She was far gone.

Hearing his voice like that, hearing the heartache she'd once known broke her and she felt as if she were at her end. "Leave, Raoul. Just...leave."

Raoul looked to the bouquet in his hand and back to Christine then Erik who was setting her bag down to turn and hug her against his chest as she began sobbing quietly.

He left. No more words. No more love. Just heartbreak and disappointment at the end of their relationship.

"I'm sorry, Christine," Meg said, approaching her. "I tried to get him to leave, but he was so insistent. He truly thought..." she dropped the topic. "I'm going to make some tea. We can forget all of this, watch a movie maybe."

Erik brought Christine a cup of tea as she laid in bed with a box of tissues.

"I loved him," she said as he sat next to her. She laughed, disgusted by her own naivety. "I loved him and I allowed him to hurt me."

"Christine, you could not help yourself."

The tears came again, choking her words so that they were barely recognizable. "God, why has my life been so miserable?"

"Christine."

"I cannot bear to live like this," she sobbed.

"Christine!" The edge in his voice broke her from her sullen spell. He stared her deep in the eyes, gripping harshly onto her shoulders. "I cannot live without you, Christine." She furrowed her brows, slightly surprised by his words. "I love you, you know this, but I do not think you understand how much I love you." He moved closer to her, lowering his voice. "You've saved me, Christine. I've lived my entire life on my lonesome, praying that maybe one day someone would finally love me. And now that I've found you? Someone so perfect and desirable, someone that will kiss me and touch me and look at my face without resign…" he swallowed, "I must have you, Christine. I must always have you in my life."

She cried still, but tears of misery were replaced by joyful ones. She sniffled. "If you don't kiss me right now-"

He did not allow her to finish, pressing his lips against hers with a certain urgency. She smiled, pulling away to look into his eyes, lovingly stroking small circles onto his thigh while their breaths intermingle in the small space between them.

Meg walked in. "Oh!" she exclaimed, backing out immediately.

Christine laughed. "Meg, we're not doing anything like that."

Her blond curls were the first to appear back in the doorway, then her eyes. "I just wanted to see if you two would like to watch a movie."

They sat on the couch, Christine between them each. Meg brought in a giant quilt and tossed it so that Erik would pull it around himself, keeping Christine warm in the center as they cuddled up with her. She laughed at how ridiculous they were both being by hugging her tight, but their hugs were full of genuine love and it melted her heart knowing she was surrounded by people that cared for her and wished her happiness.


	22. Scorpion

_A/N: Reminder that this story is rated T. Sexual content ahead._

* * *

"If you could travel anywhere in the entire world, where would you go?" Christine's father asked these type of questions often, making silent promises that one day she would see and do everything she ever wanted and she would be happy. She always knew, even at the age of four, that he could never deliver such promises. Her love for him was endless nonetheless. All she needed was him and his music.

"Christine, what do you aspire to be?" Erik, her new housemate and she decided love of her life, asked sitting across from her at the dinner table.

She'd finally moved in after a few months, quitting her job at _Isabella's_ so that she didn't have to worry about driving all the distance. Now she was in search of a new job, something close by.

She smiled at Erik's question. It'd been so long since she'd been asked such a thing. "I want to be a professional ballet dancer."

He cocked his head. "Are you not already?"

"I'm only in a small volunteer program. I've been saving up to go to school."

"How long did you plan on going without telling me?"

She looked at him in confusion. "That I wanted to go to school?"

"That you've been saving, Christine. I can pay for you."

She shook her head. "You've already done so much. Now I'm living under your roof."

He grimaced. "Christine, let me do this for you. You want to attend school and I want to see you happy, so it is a win-win." He chewed on a slice of radish, thinking. "How about Paris Marias? I think they're supposed to be the best nearby."

Her hand twitched in repose. That's exactly where she wanted to go. "It's much too expensive, Erik."

"I love you, Christine. I'm never going to stop loving you."

She sighed, slumping. "Do you know of any other way to show your love for me besides through financial means?"

"You doubt my abilities?" He cocked his head, almost offended by her words.

"I just don't want you always wasting your money on me all the time. I love you for other reasons."

Erik swallowed a sip of wine, intrigued. "Why do you love me, then?" He had to hear it.

"Why do you love me?" Christine asked back, curious as well.

A small smile formed on his lips as he met her eyes and looked back towards his dinner plate, cutting into his salmon. "First it was your voice that drew me in. Then it was your walk, your eyes, your hair, your smile, the way you danced, the way I felt when we touched. I can't name a single thing I don't love about you."

Christine blinked at him. He seemed so shy suddenly, incapable of making eye contact with anything other than his food. She smiled and looked down to her plate as well.

"I love your cologne and the way you dress," she began. He looked at her as she spoke, seeing the rosy pink color in her cheeks. "And the way I feel in your arms and how you feel in mine. I also love it when you play piano and when you played violin and I danced and when we sung together. I also like it when you cook for me and when we watch movies or just listen to music."

She found the courage to look at him. His eyes were kind and soft, his chest visibly rising and falling. His finger twitched on his fork, wanting to reach out to her and touch her, pull her close and assault her with kisses, drag to her to bed and call it a night already. But he had a plan and knew it was better to wait than to rush into things.

"I have a few of those things planned for tonight," he said.

Christine smiled and continued at her plate. They finished their meals and Erik cleaned up. She stood by the center island, watching as he dribbled dish soap over their plates and scrubbed them with a sponge before he set them in his dishwasher. Everything he did seemed so calculated, precise. These were common chores that everyone performed at least once in their lives, no particularly right way of doing them, but the way he performed each task made it seem as if there was meant to be a right way and that was his way.

Erik turned, drying his hands with a clean towel and hung it back on its ring. He looked to Christine and said nothing, only walked to her and took her hand to lead her back to their room.

Yes, it was their room now, he decided. He had had his own room, but after she took a liking to that room he would go there to sleep when she was absent, laying on the other end while he imagined her there beside him. Now he no longer had to imagine her there. She was and she would allow him to sleep beside her and she would sleep beside him.

Erik took her into the room. A few candles were place on the nightstands and dresser while a record player sat between the few on the dresser

"Isn't this a bit of a fire hazard?" Christine asked jokingly. Erik smirked, looking at her as she scanned the room.

Erik led her to the record player, closing the door behind them. He turned his record player on and set the needle down.

"What is this called?" she asked as it started up with a few horns softly playing around.

"Satchmo at Symphony Hall," he replied.

Erik turned to her, guiding her in front of him with a hand on her back. "Close your eyes," he said.

"What?" she laughed.

"Close your eyes," he repeated. She did as he asked, feeling his warm presence recede as he walked away. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Shh," he hushed. "Just wait."

He shed his suit coat on the edge of the bed, pulling a necklace out of an inner pocket. He kept his back to her as he messed with it, straightening the chain before he walked back to her. He brought the necklace around the front of her, Christine feeling the cool metal as it laid against her neck.

"Hold up you hair," he commanded. She brought her hair up as he asked, not opening her eyes just yet, and he clasped it in the back. "Alright," he said, finishing. Christine allowed her hair to fall back behind her shoulders.

"May I open my eyes now?"

"Yes," he chuckled.

Christine opened her eyes, looking in the mirror at her image, a silver necklace glinting with the light of the candles.

"A scorpion?" she asked, admiring the little silver insect that hung just above her locket.

"Yes. Because you're strong and independent."

"But I struggle with being strong and independent."

He smiled at her blindness. "You may not see it, but I do, Christine," he said, lowering his voice. The way he said her name made her shiver with desire and anticipation. "Besides," he added, "I am a scorpio."

She grinned and admired the necklace in the mirror, tapping the scorpion gently with her forefinger.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

She nodded. "It's beautiful."

He smiled and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against him. "You're beautiful." He felt the satin of her dress on his fingertips, dragging them lightly across her stomach where muscles reacted to his touch.

She turned, his arms not leaving her. His hands now grazed the small of her exposed back. She could feel them, callused and cool against her skin. He treaded lightly, desiring so much more. She pulled her arms around his neck, lifting herself onto her toes to meet his lips with her own. Their kissing was open-mouthed and light, almost playful, until Erik broke away.

 _What did I do to be so black and blue?_ Louis Armstrong's voice crooned over the record players speaker.

Erik smiled, recognizing the song. "You questioned if I knew of any other way to show my love to you besides money," Erik recalled their conversation at the dinner table. "I have a stockpile of ways in which I desire loving you, my dear. I just need you to meet me halfway."

Christine recognized the direction in which he was heading and a familiar warmth poured through her. She nodded. "I'm willing."

His finger worked its way underneath the strap of her gown, lifting it. Before he continued, his eyes shot to hers in question. She moved her hands to his vest, working from the bottom up with deliberation. She wanted to savor every moment of this.

Every time she'd gotten into this position with Raoul he'd given her no choice and rushed into everything, only desiring to feel her skin underneath his hands. She could never continue on in that position, wishing he would slow down and taste her rather than consuming her whole.

Now Erik felt the same burning desire Raoul had stirring within him, but even more than that he felt Christine's desire to bask in every second of undressing and touching. If she were to wake in the morning and decide he was not the one for her, he wanted to make sure he got to enjoy every second and memorize every inch of her body with his hands; map her out in his own mind so he would never forget how she felt against him.

Christine now sat over top of him in the bed. The only thing she wore being the necklace he'd gifted her and the locket that hung just below her collarbones. Her hands roamed his lithe figure, feeling his muscle beneath her fingertips and the sparse dark hair of his chest. His hands ran along the top of her thighs, moving upwards along the curve of her hips and ending at her waist. He curled his fingers around her sides, thumb on her stomach and the other four around the back. Erik felt how small she was, how fragile.

"Exquisite," he described her aloud, eyes wandering from her pelvis upwards, ending at her eyes. Christine's expression displayed nothing besides a newfound timidity.

Erik sat up, making her shift her own weight. He reached out, touching her face. "We do not have to do this now," he assured her. "We can wait."

"I've been waiting for so long to enjoy this moment with someone," she replied. "Never have I burned so deeply. I think I'm just afraid it won't be good." She dropped her eyes in shame. "I'm afraid I won't be capable of pleasing you."

"Pleasing me?" He scoffed. "Christine, the only way you could upset me right now is by getting up and leaving."

"I would never do that."

"Then you cannot possibly disappoint me." He kissed the tip of her nose. "We'll explore together, alright?" She nodded, feeling gratified by his willingness to take it slow.

Erik reached forward to touch her and she grabbed his wrist. His eyes looked to hers with concern. "Please," she whispered, "Please be gentle."

He smiled, kissing her cheek. "I should be as gentle as a lamb." She smiled sweetly, releasing him.

They continued exploring, touching the areas in which they had been avoiding all while studying what each other liked. Every little pluck and flick and stroke. Everything that elicited a cry from the other until they found one another joined together.

At this point, Christine had successfully pulled Erik's mask free without protest. She pressed her right cheek against his to feel him better and dragged her hands around his head, enjoying the silk of his hair on her fingers. All the pain that had once existed within him from his appearance shattered into a thousand pieces as she cried against him, her thighs quivering with the rest of her body as stars fell upon her. With the little bit of consciousness she maintained, she managed to press her lips to his imperfect cheek and waited to come down from the pure ecstasy of the moment before she broke away. Her acceptance was enough of an answer, inviting him to give in as well.

Erik's hands found Christine's back as they laid side-by-side. Christine turned and brought her hand to the sparse hair of his chest, drawing small incomprehensible shapes and designs over his muscle.

 _It's too bad that I'm in love with you_.

Erik pulled the covers over her first then himself. His arm found its way around her and pulled her to him, their stomachs flush.

"You're so good to me, Christine," he whispered.

A tired smile tugged at her lips. "I love you, Erik."

"I love you too."

* * *

 _A/N: May be a little while until the next couple of chapters come out. I promise I won't make you guys wait too long. Thanks for reading!_


	23. Wedding

Christine had spent the past couple of weeks going over music with Erik. "I just want it to be perfect," she told him. "It is a wedding after all. I would hate to ruin it and-"

"Christine!" Erik laughed from behind the piano, watching her pace in front of him. "Have we not been over this before?"

She looked to him, brows furrowed, trying to recall a past conversation about the wedding. Nothing came to mind.

"Music is never perfect," he said.

The reminder seemed to relieve her of some tension, her shoulders relaxing a bit with the rest of her frame. "Still," she continued, "I want to be as close to perfect as it can be."

Erik pushed the bench back so that he could stand, and straightened his waistcoat. "I say we take a break."

"No!" she pleaded. "Please. One more time?"

The breath that followed from Erik's nostrils was harsh, his chest collapsing downward with it. "One more time leads to another time which lead to another."

"It will be only once. I promise."

It didn't matter what Erik did. He survived years of sideways glances and self loathing. At so many moments in his life, he had reached the edge, but he'd never been capable of giving in. Yet now, here in front of him was this girl. Brown curls, brown eyes, a smile and voice so irresistible. He couldn't do it. He gave in, seating himself on the bench, returning his hands to the keys once more. Her voice came out, soft and sweet as ever:

 _They asked me how I knew_

 _My true love was true_

They finished the song and Christine looked to Erik for feedback as she always did. She found his eyes closed, his fingers still on the keys. He sensed her looking at him and opened his eyes, tilting his gaze toward her. "Maybe I was wrong when I said music could never be perfect."

She smiled gently. "There are still some parts I'd like to go over."

Erik stood once more. "Later."

They walked out to his garden where he walked her through his maze to the fountain behind.

"I still can't believe you planted all of this," said Christine.

"Not without help. I'm only one man."

"Yes, but you are an incredible man."

Erik chuckled at her comment and sat on one of the granite benches, pulling Christine with him. He sat there for a moment, only staring at her, admiring the features of her face and committing to memory every little freckle and imperfection.

"What did I ever do to deserve you?" he thought out loud.

She blushed, slipping her hands into his. They watched their hands work together, gliding over one another until their palms laid flush, their hands curling around the base of the other's. Erik sighed in content. The way his hands wrapped around her always seemed so perfect, as if he were designed intentionally to hold her. No one but him.

"Erik," Christine spoke, coming to a realization, "You've never told me what you want to be."

He a smiled, trying not to laugh. It was a genuine question. So simple yet so complex. "As a child, I just wanted to be happy." He looked to her, eyes as honest as his words. "But we're human. There is no one thing we want. We keep wanting and wanting and wanting."

He seemed so close now, she was sure he was going to kiss her and she wouldn't have minded it (she never did, anyway), but he pulled back, releasing her hands and standing. She watched as he walked towards a rose bush, plucking a budding rose from the surrounding leaves.

"My parents knew that I was not fit for this world, so they hid me. They tried putting me into public schooling in hopes that a mask would prevent people from staring, but a mask is only a temporary shield, too weak to protect me from the true cruelty of the world." Erik twirled the rose between his finger and thumb. "They'd call me names and tease me for looking ridiculous, then one day someone finally got the courage to rip it off and I haven't been able to look in the mirror the same way since."

Christine thought he would cry, but he did not. She could almost see the shell he'd built around himself, a shell that would protect from all evil, even his own memories.

"From that day on, all I wanted to be was happy. With myself, that is." He walked back to her, sighing. "Then I wanted to be loved. I thought that maybe if I could find someone who could love me, then maybe I'd love myself." He shook his head, his fingers lightly squeezing the flower's stem. "I realized that no one could love me for my appearance, nor my personality, so I thought maybe people could love me for my music. I threw myself into my studies, playing the piano for hours upon hours. Scales, chord progressions, arpeggios, music theory. It all became my life." His thumb brushed along the top edge of the petals, his eyes far in some distant world. "At the age of fourteen I started writing music, composing. I submitted some of my best works to a few symphonies and all were rejected."

"Can you play some of your compositions for me?" Christine asked, desiring to hear what it was like. There was not a doubt in her mind that what he'd written was wonderful. Maybe she could heal some of that past pain.

"I could play for you what I remember, but the music is gone."

"They kept it?"

"No," Erik replied, voice cracking. "They sent it back and I burned it all."

Christine felt her heart breaking at the image of him receiving his work back, having slaved over every note and key change just to be rejected. Then, feeling as if he had no chance, throwing it into a fire, standing over the flames and watching to make sure it all burned. His eyes, afterwards, blind from staring into the fire for too long. It was an image she did not want, but her mind would not allow her to look away.

"What made you start writing again?" she asked, trying to move on.

"One day I was sitting down in a restaurant and I found that the music they were playing had certain patterns to it. I recognized it as pop music, something loved by the masses, and I took out my journal to jot some notes. When I got home, I sat down at the piano and started playing away, creating a certain pattern that fit. I wrote some lyrics and sent it to a local artist. She seemed to love it, offered me some money and a job writing music for her. From then on I became a sort of pop music composer."

Christine smiled. "Someone finally appreciated your art."

Erik chuckled. "I guess so." His figure slumped slightly. "To finally feel love was a relief. Hearing my music on the radio, hearing groups of teenagers belt out the songs at the top of their lungs… it's all been so unreal. They don't realize it, that I'm the one who wrote such songs, yet to be loved and appreciated… it was so nice." Erik held the rose close to his heart, his eyes towards the sky. "And then I wanted real love. I wanted someone who could allow me to touch them and kiss them, someone who I could wake up to and not feel afraid." Christine's smile grew with each word. "It took me a few years, but I eventually found her." His eyes closed, fingers pressing the rose closer to his heart. "And it was so utterly worth it."

Christine stood and made her way to him, arms wrapping around him as she pressed her cheek to the hand over the rose. Erik looked down at the crown of her head, ethereal to his gaze.

"You know what I want now?" he asked, his voice low.

Christine pulled back to regard him with a grin. "What is that, dear?"

He hesitated for a moment, his mouth moving to form certain words just to cut themselves off. "I want to be in a band."

"A band?" she asked, trying not to laugh. He'd seemed to be building up to something a bit more personal.

"Yeah," he said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself. "I want to be in a band."

"Well, that shouldn't be too terribly difficult. I'm sure there are plenty bands in need of another member. And you're so diverse, you could practically play anything they need."

He nodded. Now that he thought about it, maybe joining a band wouldn't be so bad. The composer life had left him prosperous, but he never felt as if he were truly living. It seemed glamorous: the long nights, the applauding crowd. He was already composing music that he felt wasn't truly his. What would be so different playing music that wasn't truly his?

* * *

Erik gripped the wheel, the familiar rumble of the road numbing his hands. Beside him, Christine was fast asleep. Grenoble wasn't too far now, only another thirty minutes before they reached their destination. In the back was their luggage and a keyboard that was not too much of a nuisance to transport so that they could practice in the hotel together. Erik had tried talking Christine out of it, but she was so insistent. It wasn't so much that she was nervous about performing but that she wanted to hear him play. She wouldn't admit that to him, however.

She woke when the car came to a stop, Erik turning off the ignition after he'd parked the car in their hotel's parking lot. "Here already?" she mumbled.

Erik chuckled, watching as she rose blinking through a curtain of hair. "You were asleep for about two hours."

"Really?"

"Really."

Christine sat on the edge of the bed after they'd unpacked. She watched as Erik set up his keyboard. "Which do you want to go over first?" he asked.

"I want you to play something for me."

He looked to her with surprise. "Something from our repertoire?"

"Something else."

His hands fumbled over the keys for a second, seemingly unsure of what to play. But he knew exactly what to play. Whenever he heard the song, all he could see was her. Erik pulled a chair from the desk nearby and played the opening bars. He sang:

 _Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band_

 _Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man_

Christine smiled. She didn't hear him sing often, but when he did it felt like nothing else was ever meant to exist. As if everything in the universe was just built so that his voice could one day exist, and after a few thousand millennia, God had finally gotten it right. One voice. No other.

She made him sing it once more as they laid together, her arms wrapped around him. His voice was much softer now, intended to serve as a lullaby.

 _Hold me closer tiny dancer_

 _Count the headlights on the highway_

Her embrace remained secure, but loosened as she relaxed, not yet falling asleep. Erik's voice dropped, thinking she'd drifted out. He gently pulled her palm to his lips, placing a small kiss on her skin.

"You'll do excellent tomorrow," he whispered just low enough that she wouldn't have heard if she were asleep.

A small smile tugged at her lips and she took pleasure in knowing he was unaware of her consciousness. She wondered what other things he might have said to her when she wasn't awake.

"I love you."

Christine couldn't help but reestablish her grip on him, her arms working against her. He seemed to tense for a second, realizing she had silently lied to him, but he was quick to relax back, nuzzling his imperfect cheek against her chest with a brush of exhaled air through his nostrils.

* * *

Christine fixed herself in the mirror out in the hallway before she and Erik took to the floor to perform while Erik stood in the bathroom, his mind racing as his fingers ran over the dark velvet of a ring box. For the past couple of months he'd carried this box around, waiting. So many times he'd run his thumb over the velvet in his pocket, one knee drop and one question away from the life he'd always wanted. No time seemed perfect. There was always something in the back of his mind demanding that he wait. Now, here, there was something in the air. Maybe it was that they were at a wedding. Maybe it was the way the burgundy of Christine's gown made him yearn for her embrace. Erik was not sure, but it felt right.

"Ready, dear?" Erik asked, wrapping his arms around Christine's waist.

"Do my eyebrows look fine?"

He laughed. "You look beautiful."

It didn't matter how many times he told her that. Every time felt like the first, sending chills throughout her. She turned, giving Erik a peck on his open cheek.

"Are you two ready?" Fabrice, the man who had approached Christine in Nice about singing at his wedding reception, came in from the ballroom, his smile genuine and full of love.

Erik removed his arms from Christine and they both turned. "Ready," Christine replied with a smile.

Every little bit of rehearsal came back to Christine as she sang, her voice strong and certain with every note. Erik's fingers danced across the keys. While they played each note correctly and in time, his mind floated elsewhere with her voice.

He may have rehearsed it a thousand times, but as he pulled Christine out to the balcony with him after their performance, he forgot everything he wanted to say.

"We're so high up," Christine said, walking to the railing to overlook the town and the neighboring mountains of the alps. "I'm surprised I can breathe up here."

 _You don't even know,_ Erik thought to himself, his heart racing as his hand found the velvet box in his pocket. He walked over, joining her side as she slipped off her heels with a groan.

"When we get back to the hotel, I'm going to have you rub my feet," she laughed, her fingers massaging the heel of her left foot.

Erik grinned. "Whatever you need, my dear."

Christine returned her foot to the ground and set her shoes to the side, her face a frown. "Sad," she said, "I almost had you in height."

"If 'almost' means another eight inches, then yeah."

She hit his arm playfully, giggling. "You know what I mean."

Erik watched as she returned her gaze to the view out ahead, thinking of what he wanted to say next. Oh, he'd lost the words. Every one of them. Gone. He must have spent hours practicing in front of a mirror and yet he was incapable of remembering. "Wait a little longer and you will have me in height."

She looked to him in confusion. "I stopped growing when I was sixteen."

Erik laughed, his head shaking ever so slightly. "You have no idea what _I_ mean."

The look of confusion on her face grew, erased to surprise as Erik dropped to his knee, pulling the box from his pocket as he did so. He opened it, revealing the white gold of the band within.

"I looked through so many rings," he said, "But I wasn't sure what you'd like to wear for the rest of your life, so I thought maybe we could go back and find something more appropriate together."

"Erik," Christine said, tears falling down her cheeks. She smiled, her lips quivering for a moment, eventually steadying themselves and holding up. She didn't speak, could not find the words, so she just held up her left hand and waited for him to slip the ring over her finger. He did just as she wanted, kissing the band as he returned the empty velvet box back to his pocket.

Christine's arms found their way around his torso as he stood, rising to his full height. He folded her into his arms, kissing the crown of her head. Never in his life did he think a man could feel so light, so new. All the doubt within him vanished into thin air.

She lifted her head, pressing her lips to his with a hard certainty that sent sparks throughout them both. For a moment it felt as if they were the only people on the entire planet, the music playing through the stereo system inside drowned out by the music resulting from their pressed lips and scarcely roaming hands. They held tight onto one another for what should've felt like an eternity, but in their minds it was not long enough. The balcony door opened and they pulled apart quickly as Fabrice's brother stuck his head out.

"We're going to cut the cake," he said, pulling his head back in and closing the door.

Erik and Christine looked to each other, grinning. "One more?" she asked.

Erik pushed a side of her hair back behind her ear. "How can I resist you?"

She laughed, standing up onto her toes as he leaned down to brush his lips along hers not once, but four times, needing to feel her over and over to remind himself he was not dreaming.

* * *

 _A/N: One final chapter to go, I believe. Thank you all for the overwhelming support and reviews! It means a lot. I'll probably be back with a fresh story in January, I just have to think of which to write (I've got a never-ending mental list). Anyways, thanks again!_


	24. Epilogue

_A/N: I've gone back and forth between how I'd like to end this story. Mariage d'Amour thought it would be interesting to continue the story even after it was over. I might add a few extra chapters in the future, but as far as the main story goes, this is it. Since it is the holiday season, I thought it was appropriate to end this way. Thanks for sticking along! I appreciate all the support! I'll see you guys next year with a new story. Happy holidays!_

* * *

Christine was finishing up with her class when she received a text from Meg.

 _Hey, Christine! I know this is short notice, but Thomas and I decided to stop in and say hello before we leave to visit his family. Could you and Erik meet us at the coffee shop we used to regular?_

Christine nearly sprung with joy upon hearing her friend was back in town. It had been so long since they'd seen one another. They remained in touch, texting to see how the other was doing with the occasional phone call at night. It was difficult, however. Between their work schedules and Christine's classes, it seemed as if they didn't have much time for one another anymore.

 _Meg! Yes, I can meet you at the coffee shop. I'm afraid Erik won't be able to make it. He's on tour right now._

She was upset when Erik had informed her that he wouldn't be back until Christmas Eve. They hadn't decorated at all for the holiday season, not even a wreath was hung on their front door! Erik had promised they would decorate together and so she maintained a safe distance from the Christmas decor aisles, but she doubted he'd want to decorate when he arrived home. Christmas Eve was far too late to do so. Besides, he'd probably only be interested in spending time with her walking around the square as they had the year before or sitting with her by the fire. He'd probably be exhausted when he returned anyways. Traveling with her father was draining even as a child and she wasn't even the one performing every night. Surely it was taking a toll on him.

Christine changed out of her dance clothes and into winter attire. It was a small drive to the coffee shop, passing the old apartment her and Meg once lived in together. Every time she passed that building it would bring a smile to her face. All the bad memories were outweighed by the good especially the final hug they shared as they parted ways, Christine to Erik's home and Meg to her and Thomas' in Nantes. She missed having Meg in her life all the time, but she was grateful for the moments they had shared together, that little apartment building serving as a reminder of their everlasting friendship.

"Christine!" Meg stood, her eyes wide and bright, as she entered the little coffee shop to greet her.

"Hello, Meg," Christine smiled joyfully, running over to hug her friend tight.

She ordered her usual hot cocoa as she would every time this year, sitting with them by the window.

"I cannot believe Erik is not here," Meg said as Christine shed her winter coat, laying it across the back of her chair. "I wished to see you two together. How is he?"

"Busy," Christine replied, sighing heavily. "He hasn't talked to me much since he left for tour, which I understand, but I... I'm just looking forward to him coming home." Her mind wanted to continue in unraveling her frustrations to Meg and her husband, but she knew it was wrong to overwhelm them with her self pity. It was the holiday season and they'd come to visit her. The least she could do was hold herself together. Erik would be back. He was not gone forever. "How are you two? How's the marriage life?"

Meg smiled. "It is going quite well. We're thinking of adopting."

Christine straightened in surprise. Already? They'd been married for only four months, but they had been together for much longer. She thought maybe they'd wait a little longer, but she realized it was not her right to judge.

"A puppy," she added, holding back a laugh at the sight of Christine's face.

"Oh!" Christine said, embarrassed by how easily she had jumped to conclusions. A puppy! Close to a child, enough to give them the taste of the responsibility that came with having and raising a child, but not a human being. "What breed?"

Meg shrugged. "We're not sure yet. We're still looking."

"I want a big dog," Thomas jumped in, "But she wants a small."

Meg rolled her eyes. "Small dogs are much cuter."

"They're yappy," Thomas argued.

"Not all!"

Christine laughed, watching their argument roll out before her eyes. "You guys should adopt two dogs, then. One may get lonely."

Meg pursed her lips in thought, her eyes searching Thomas' for his thoughts. "Maybe that's not such a bad idea."

They continued conversing, catching up on what each of them had missed in the recent months. "Where are you two planning on staying?" Christine asked, looking at their luggage beside them. They'd taken a short flight to Paris as a sort of pit stop before they caught their flight the next day.

"We thought we might drop in a hotel for the night and leave in the morning," Thomas said, fingers tapping his empty cup.

Christine looked at them both, furrowing her brows. "Why don't you both stay at our house for the night? Erik isn't home and we've got plenty of room."

"Really?" Meg asked, happy to hear her friend could take them in.

"Yes! And I could show you both around, give you a little tour. We could watch a movie and I could fix something for dinner." She thought about all the recipes Erik had taught her. "Maybe beef stroganoff."

"I'd love to have a tour," Meg said, recalling the image of their home on her laptop.

"Let's go then," Christine said, ecstatic to have company.

Christine drove them to her house, the city passing by with colorful lights and cheery-eyed people. She turned onto the corner of her street, dumbfounded by the sight before her. Someone had vandalized their house. That is, of course, if Christmas lights strung carefully around the edges of their home's frame fell under acts of vandalism. As she pulled up to the gate, she noticed further that the trees and bushes, although few and bare as they were, had lights twirled within their branches. The driveway was lined with giant candy canes and a northern star stood tall on the highest peak of the roof. Erik's car was back in the driveway along with the tour van.

Christine helped Meg and Thomas with their luggage, carrying one of their bags along with her workout bag to the front door. The porch was decorated with a small Christmas tree and fake presents. She didn't even have to knock on the door. Erik was standing inside, awaiting her arrival. He opened the door to his beautiful and awestruck Christine, her face in a state of surprise like he'd never seen it before. As happy as she was to see him, her eyes only glanced at him for a second before they looked everywhere around his figure.

The grand foyer was decorated as well: lights twirling up the rail of the staircase, twinkling stars hanging from the chandelier, a gigantic Christmas tree sitting in the curve of the staircase. She did not even seem to notice the group of smiling faces standing behind him as she walked in, her eyes finally looking to him and holding there.

"Erik," she said breathlessly, incapable of forming words, her eyes wide and full of love and joy. There was no room for any other emotion.

Erik smiled, pulling her flush against him, capturing her lips with his own. He didn't care about the others there and neither did she.

Christine gently dropped the bags on the floor, her hands finding his cheeks. She wanted so badly to reach below his mask and kiss him all over, make him feel loved as she always enjoyed doing so, pull him back to their room and lose herself in him. But she could not, sadly. She knew she would have to wait before they could make up for lost time. He broke away, sighing with content as he pulled her head to his shoulder, embracing her tightly.

"I thought you wouldn't be back for another two weeks," she whispered.

"I lied."

She wrapped her arms tightly around him, needing to be closer, needing to feel him. "I've never been so happy to have been lied to."

Erik pulled away, kissing her cheek. "Shall we eat?" His question was more of an announcement.

His band mates clapped, heading back towards the kitchen. They had prepared a feast perfect enough for Christmas day: roasted turkey, stuffing, cranberries, potatoes, macaroni. Erik pulled some more chairs for Meg and Thomas to sit.

Erik stood before his guests. "Christine, Meg, Thomas," he pointed, introducing them, "These are my band mates. Nadir, our drummer; Ubaldo, our guitarist; Joseph, our bassist; and Carlotta, our vocalist."

Christine smiled. "It is nice to meet you all finally." She looked to Erik. "Did you guys set this all up on your own?"

"Yes, they helped me pick out what to get and we were out and about trying to get everything set up before you came home," Erik replied.

"He was practically falling apart, Christine," Nadir spoke to her, grinning. "You should've seen it. I thought he might rip his hair out."

Erik rolled his eyes and took his seat beside Christine. "I was not _that_ bad."

"Oh yes you were," Carlotta chimed in. "I'm surprised no one ended up going to the hospital." She shot a glance at Joseph who kept himself busy with his plate, trying to ignore the conversation entirely.

Christine chuckled. "Well, all that matters is that everyone is okay and the band is still together."

"Who said everyone is okay? I'm going to have to put up with several years of trauma from this night," Nadir joked, sipping his water.

Erik kicked him beneath the table, making him jump and holler in pain, water splashing down the front of his shirt. Christine slapped Erik's arm hard, sensing he was responsible. Erik hissed, grabbing his arm where she hit him.

"Don't be so rude to our guests," Christine said, scrunching her face at him.

Erik grinned mischievously, seeing another opportunity to provoke her. "Don't scrunch your face like that, dear. Don't want to ruin something so precious, do we?" She slapped him again. "Ow!" he yelled.

Everyone was laughing now in amusement. Christine lowered her voice so only he could hear her whispering in his ear under everyone's laughter. "I'll make it feel better so long as you behave."

He smirked, squinting at her. "I bet you'll make up for it either way," he whispered back.

Her eyes pierced his in a squint. _Try me,_ they said.

Everyone stood around the tree in the grand foyer tossing on tinsel and ornaments of all sorts, two ladders standing tall in assistance. Erik gave Christine a beautiful angel dressed in brown silk, a lute in her arm. "For the top," he said. Christine walked up the stairs, Erik following behind. He held her as she leaned over the banister and set the angel on the tip of the tree. Everyone clapped, happy that decorating was now done with.

Erik drew Christine in, pulling her back flush against him and off the railing. "I don't think we'll have enough bedrooms for everybody tonight," he whispered into her ear. "How about we take to the fireplace? We'll be better secluded from everyone else."

She tried to hold herself back from shivering at how his words made her feel, warmth shooting all throughout her. "Okay," she managed to reply in a whisper. He kissed her cheek, letting her go.

They got the fire roaring and everyone gathered around in the living area, laughing and conversing as they sipped on warm wine and hot chocolate. Eventually everyone left to their rooms, drained by the extraneous task of decorating and the day's events. Christine showed Meg and Thomas to her and Erik's room, retrieving some clothes for the night from their closet before heading out. Christine changed in the bathroom next to the kitchen before she joined Erik back in the living area. When she left the bathroom she felt a pair of arms wrap around her figure. She gasped at first, but relaxed, realizing they were Erik's by their cool and firm grasp. His lips caressed her neck and she tilted it over so he'd have better access, his hand making its way to tug slightly at the ribbon on her robe.

"Stop," she whispered, slapping his hand away lightly.

He groaned, retracting his hand and pulling his lips from her neck. "Why must you torture me?" he said, grabbing a handful of silk on her robe and bunching it in his fist, wishing to rip the thin fabric from her body.

"Behave yourself and you may see."

He grunted, removing his arms from her and letting her robe drop down. She led him back to the living area, closing the door and locking it behind them. He sat on the couch, picking up his half-finished mug of hot chocolate. Christine stood between him and the fire, casting a shadow over his figure.

"Come on," he said impatiently, sipping on his chocolate for a moment.

Christine laughed, taking pleasure in his growing restlessness.

Erik realized he had to change his tactics. He stood, placing his mug down, and stepped slowly towards her like a cat stalking its prey. "It was horrible of me to leave you waiting at home for a month, was it not?"

Christine raised her brow, unsure of what he was doing, but knowing it was possibly one of his tricks to seduce her. _Don't give him the power, Christine,_ she thought to herself. _That's your job._

"A side of the bed left cold, a chair left empty, a piano left unplayed," he continued, closing the gap between them. Before she could stop him, he wrapped his arms around her waist so that she could not escape. "It was horrible of me, was it not?"

She did not reply, swallowing. He was so close now, their lungs taking from the same small pocket of air between them. She wasn't sure if she'd be capable of holding on much longer. She planned on milking out every last bit of patience within him, but now _he_ was testing her.

Erik's thumb worked its way beneath the neck of her robe, tracing along the jut of her collarbone. Her breath hitched, her thighs clenching themselves. His eyes moved away from hers, down as he peeled back the edge of her robe to peek underneath.

"Oh," he purred. She could feel the sound reverberate through him as he saw the white lace of her lingerie. She purchased it as a plan to surprise him. He was quite satisfied with her little surprise, but he wanted to see more. He moved his hand down towards the ribbon of her robe. Christine smacked his hand away, breaking away from his embrace with little struggle. She was not willing to give over her power entirely. A little peek wouldn't hurt him, she realized, but there was still so much for him to see. Not without her permission, however.

"Sit," she commanded, pointing towards the couch.

Erik did as she asked, grunting in reproach. She made him watch as she removed the robe herself, his fingers twitching with desire as his eyes roamed over every detail of the lingerie and what he would make out of her body. Eventually the torture was over and she allowed him to touch, appreciating the delicate lace that hid what he truly desired underneath. They each laid there in front of the fire beneath a thin blanket, hands roaming familiar territory, every touch a relief. They didn't know a month of separation could do this to one another. Every day they were separate felt like an eternity, but now as they lost themselves within their passionate embrace, they felt grateful for the separation. It made the final rush all the more unforgettable.

"I'm surprised you wear this as often as you do your locket," Erik said, lightly fingering the scorpion necklace he'd given her.

"I think it goes well together," she said, grinning.

"Yes. I'd say so," he agreed, contentment in every corner of his voice. "You know, I think it's been a year since I first heard you sing."

"More than a year. Choir auditions were in late November."

"Oh, yes," Erik recalled the time. "I'm glad Maestro moved the auditions to January. There's much more time to prepare for the season."

"Much more," Christine retorted, nuzzling her face underneath his chin.

Erik's fingers lightly stroked the bareness of her back, his mind roaming through thoughts. "What did you think of me when we first met?" he asked.

"I thought you were a bit of a creep," Christine answered honestly, a small chuckle following. Oh how things had changed.

"Really?" he said in surprise, brows furrowed.

"Well, you watched me when I thought I was alone."

Erik grunted. "Yes, that was quite rude of me. I'm sorry," he apologized.

"It is fine," she said, sighing with a small smile. "I'm just glad you enjoyed the show."

He chuckled, lifting her head from beneath him so that he could look her in the eyes. "I enjoy every one of your performances, my dear." He kissed the space between her eyes.

She smiled sweetly. "Thank you, Erik."

"For what, my dear?" he asked, hand allowing her head to fall back gently to a throw pillow they'd taken from the couch.

"For giving me the opportunity to be happy."

He looked to her, squinting. She really thought he was responsible for all of her success? "That was all your doing, Christine. You could've refused all my offers."

"Yes, but if you hadn't been there for me-"

He kissed her lips, forcing her to cease her talking, and pulled away with a warm pluck. "You speak as if you haven't done anything for me."

"I-"

"Christine, you have turned the most miserable man on the planet into the happiest. Nothing I do will ever be capable of repaying you."

She was the one to kiss him now. "I'm sorry, but I do not agree," she said. "We still have yet to do a lot of things."

"Like what?"

"I want us to visit my homeland together."

"You're saying we must make a trip up north?"

"I'm saying we should."

He hummed thoughtfully. "What else?"

"Marriage." He paused, something passing behind his eyes. Yes, he wanted to marry her. He wanted to see her in a beautiful white gown, to touch her and revel in the fact that they were both truly committed to one another. She was his and he was hers. "Then we should have a child, maybe several children."

 _Oh God,_ he thought. _A child. Our child. My blood and hers curled into one being._ He kissed the dip of her neck. "Let us save all that for next year. For now, let's enjoy us."

Erik pulled their cover up and over their bare shoulders. He sat up and switched sides with her so that she could be closer to the fire, his arm pulling her back flush against his chest. She felt his breaths against her and adjusted her own breath accordingly, matching it with his. The air from his nostrils tickled the crown of her head, pushing several loose hairs down with every exhaled breath. It wasn't until his arm loosened its hold that Christine too allowed herself to give in, the crackle of the dying fire and his deepening breaths engulfing her in a lullaby like no other.


End file.
